No More Learning

471



I have been proud, and hoped wliere hope was none.

I was not born to live in this, our age, —

Age of transition given up to evil, —

Which those who care not for the will of God —

Industrial Chiefs and Princes of the earth, —

Would fain perpetuate to coin in gold !

Like Solomon's Temple, ere Christ drove away

The money-changers, rose the structure of

The world I knew, approaching fast its fall,

Full of iniquity, and void of faith !

Within, the speculators circulated.

Striving the one to overreach the other,

Urged on by keen avidity of lucre;

Only arrested by the fear of war.

The world entire was but a mighty Bourse,

From which they had driven God ! . . .

Above this den of wily gain and fraud

Already loomed from icy northern clime

(Like Satan in the garb of an archangel)

A monstrous shadow, growing every hour,

Thrown by the Giant who has chained me here !

They all, instead of joining to repulse this foe,

Strike him with fire and iron, only used

The fire to forge the h-on into roads ;

And based their hopes on steam; while they feared war

Far more than they feared God or infamy.

Thus were the traders, manufi. icturers.

Contented with their lot.

<K XI.

Thus have they ever rested peaceably
Within their cities, near their shops and banks,
Crowning their markets with triumphal arches;
And I ? . . . Oh, I have miserably perished !
The foe, with arm as swift as sudden death,
Seized me by stealth. I was allowed to breathe
No parting wish in any human ear,
Nor bid farewell to any whom I loved.
Leaving no trace by which I might be found.
At dead of night they hurried me away



472



THE LAST.



In a kibitka :* secretly, in silence !
Only the stars of my own native sky
Were the mute witnesses of what was done,
And looked on my mysterious, rapid course.

XII.

Before an infamous court they summoned me ;

Tried and condemned me. The judges scoffed because

I, a weak Pole, for a moment could forget

The power of that Government, which holds

The keys of Life and Death, and said that I,

Having offended the Czar-god, deserved

Stern sentence for my crimes ! Then they decreed

That I should go on foot to the world's confines.

The land of ice ! I, son of a great nation,

Should go with convicts, welded to their chain !

XIII.

And I walked on forever through sad lands,
Chained with a drove of felons, Moscovites !
Our hangman led a horse before the convoy,
But never mounted it : a Holy Thing
Was to its saddle constantly appended ;
The KNOUT with thongs of leather, iron hooks
To gather the torn flesh back to its place
That the poor victim might still seem a man.
As mutilation, death, swept over him !
The executioner who led this horse
Forever with his finger pointed to it.
Crying: "Behold ! the organ of the Czar! "
He ordered men to kneel and bow before it
With reverence, as if it were the cross
Of sacrifice which from the saddle rose !
Thus did this emblem of the soul of Russia,
The Czar's omnipotence, still lead me on
Through never-ending steppes of desolation.
Toward the North Pole, bound in eternal ice.



* Kibitka, a Russian wagon in which condemned political prisoners
start on their journey to Siberia.



THE LAST. 473

XIV.

My traveling companions, robbers, thieves,

Forgers, assassins, had a hai)i)ier fate !

They loosed their chains, and left them on the route

At various places to form colonies,

And populate those wastes. * I, only I,

Was forced to drag on ever wearily

Behind that hangman, horse, and knout accursed !

And when my rings, welded on hands, on feet,

Had worn away the flesh and rubbed into the bones,

And I was suffering utmost agony,

And begged the rufhan for a moment's rest

Upon the horse ; the Moscovite replied :

" Die, cursed Pole, rather than thus pollute

With touch of thine, with stain of rebel hands,

The symbol of the justice of the Czar ! "f

Happy are they who may expire upon

The very threshold of their martyrdom !

Such death were but deliverance from worse ills !

Wait thou until the hour of victory,

Then wilt thou die 1 — but if thy life be naught

But misery, — that life shall be prolonged!

XV.

Where are thy smiling plains, my native land?
Fields gay with flowers, or rich with golden grain?

•■•■ The punishment of death in Russia is only inflicted on those guilty of
political crimes. The most dreadful criminals in common law are sent
to Siberia to work in the mines and fortresses; sometimes only in the
view of peopling the desert country.

f This episode may appear trivial to foreign readers, but our author
has inserted it in his poem as an historic remembrance. Prince Roman
Sanguszko, who was taken prisoner in the war of 1831, was condemned
to be sent to Siberia. The mother of the Prince hastened to St. Peters-
burg, and addressed a petition to the Emperor Nicholas, to obtain the
pardon of her son. The wtvr//>c/ Czar, however, augmented the punish-
ment by writing with his pencil at the foot of the petition of the sick-
hearted mother : " He shall go on foot. " The sentence was put into exe-
cution ; he went on foot ; and many, many years afterwards, when Prince
Roman Sanguszko had been pardoned and had returned to Poland, he
would often relate to his friends the above history of the e. Kecutioner, the
horse, and the knout.



474



THE LAST.



Where are the forests where the pine-trees wave
When the wind stirs their branches, murmuring
Mysterious tones, solemn and sweet as prayers ?
Where is the aerial warbling of the lark?
Where the old church where sleep my ancestors ?
Where are the Catholic litanies of my people,
People who call the Virgin Mary, Queen?

XVI.

Oh, what has passed? . . . Where am I, O my God?

Is there still left a corner in my soul

Where memory's lamp is not as yet quite out?

Does any human trait still live in me?

They say already twenty years have passed, —

I cannot tell, — but thou must know, my God,

Since I fell prostrate on this bed of death !

All consciousness of Present, Past, or Future

Then died in utter, sudden void and darkness!

But with a flash the black clouds sweep away ;

My Guardian Angel comes again to*-nie !

Tears tremble in my eyes, steal through my lids, —

'Tis long since I have wept ! Oh, very long

Since I could love, or dream of memory, hope !

My Angel, give me back love, memory,

In which each mortal claims his blessed share !

I supplicate thee. Angel, let me find

My soul again, if only for a moment,

Oh, let me feel it ! make it visible !

XVII.

My wandering thoughts, can you as yet remember

What ])resages were kindling in men's minds

When you were dizzied and obliterated ?

Were there not marvelous presentiments

Quivering in human souls in that wild hour

In which your agony began? . . .

Did not a voice rising from whence none knew.

But which reverberated everywhere.

Then prophesy what should befi\ll on earth ?

Peoples and kings condemned fell on their knees;

The uncreated Word made Itself heard



THE LAST.



475



In human souls, by strengthening Faith, Hope, Love !
The ruins of the crumbling centuries past,
With germs of future ages, — wholly freed
From their black clouds, — the Holy Spirit mingled
In the soft azure of the same horizon.
Lighted by but one sun : — for He will come
At last, the Saviour of all human races,
Restorer of all mutilated countries,
The avenger of all crimes against Humanity !
Into the Politics of this vexed world
He will bring Justice, — and His coming opens
A new — the third — last era of our Planet !
Factitious States no longer will exist,
Which for their profit, or their idle glory,
Have torn apart the body of a nation,
And stifled souls under the stones of graves.
And, by the will of God upon His earth,
The bodies and the souls of nations shall
Remain no longer sundered ! . . .
Yes, I remember now ! Such was the news ;
Such the presentiments which stirred the world,
Then given up to violence and woe.
And we, the Poles, knew well the Messenger, —
The Angel of the si)here of politics, —
Who from the stormy waves of earth's events
Was destined to bring peace, and reunite
The nationalities, could only be
Our holy Poland ; for that martyr's cross
'Had borne such woe, been bathed in such pure blood,
As might redeem this upper, earthly Hell.
Yes, I believed that having endured till death.
My People would unfurl their wings, and seize
The sword of miracle, thus to achieve
The works of life.

XVIII.

How many times Alas ! perhaps too soon,

I've seen in dreams the God of Resurrection !
No wounds, no blood upon His body now!
The form might seem another Christ, and yet
'Tis the same Christ in His eternal glory.



476



THE LAST.



His Face shines like the sun ; whiter than snow
His robe floats round Him in his heavenly course;
And in the dawn of worlds new-born to life
He bathes His unnailed Hands, transfigured now 1

XIX.

Behind the Man-God, slowly, very slowly,

In dazzling beauty, with no trace of death,

My Poland, my beloved Poland, moves !

She stops upon the threshold of the Sion

Promised to all the Peoples upon earth,

And from the sacred heights her voice resounds

So far the assembled nations clearly hear.

Or high, or low, or in the depths of space:

"To me ! to me, fraternal races, come !

Finished the latest fight of the final strife;

The snares of treason, webs of woven lies,

Are all destroyed, and hate is buried with them ;

Come, mount with me into the realm of Peace ! "

The chorus of all nations then responds :

" Glory and Benediction be to thee,

Poland ! for though truly all have suffered, .
Thy tortures were far fiercer than our own 1
Through deep enormity of that injustice

Ever accumulating on thy head,

Tiiou hast held constantly the enemy

Under the lightnings of the living God !

During the anguish of thy martyrdom,

Thou drew'st into thy heart a stronger life

Than that of thine oppressors, and thy sacrifice

Hath saved us all ! To thee'be Benediction ! Glory

XX.

Oh, often during dark autumnal nights

My mother's voice, perhaps some ancestor's,

Will break the grave, and come to me to speak

Of the unknown, the future upon earth;

And with the mystic tones strange visions throng !

The chant of triumph from the manly breasts

Of myriads of men then peals through space ;

1 see the victors pass in countless ranks ;



THE LAST.



477



I see the figures, white and luminous,
Of sisters, brothers, freed from slavery ;
A dazzling star glitters upon each brow :
The star of immortality !

Though without wings.
They float through air as if full-winged they were ;
Though without crowns, they sparkle as full-crowned !
And I move onward in the midst of them,
Feeling myself within an unknown Heaven, —
Unknown, and yet foreseen, anticipated !

XXI.

Ah ! who can tell? Perhaps the prophecies,

Given me in dreams, are all accomplished now

O'er Poland's grave, and I alone, the corpse,

May still be missing 'midst her risen sons?

Ah ! through these bars, these walls which shut me in,

Closely as coffin-planks close round the dead,

My spirit finds the light, and darts afor.

Traversing Time and Space ! I see, not dream !

There ! there are myriads of stars and flowers !

The world regenerated celebrates

Its holy marriage with young liberty !

Over the summits of the clustering Alps,

Along the ridges of Carpathian crests.

The same Aurora kindles all the heavens !

And all the Peoples surging tranquilly.

Mingling and blending waves innumerable.

Form but one mighty ocean over which

Breathes once again the si)irit of our God !

XXII.

Electric shivers shudder through my breast ;
Each nerve is trembling, tingling every vein.
As harps vibrate when touched by master-hands !
Each drop of blood grows resonant within me ;
I feel so light, as if I had no body;
These ponderous chains no longer weigh me down ;
A beatific air envelops me,
And fills my being. 1 elude the grasp
41



478 THE LAST.

Of my dread foe,' return to life immortal.
My very dungeon walls become transparent !

XXIII.

Clairvoyant vision has been. givenjTi. e !

Clearly I see the country which surrounds me;

My second sight each moment penetrates

Farther and wider, deeper into depths.

As waves still rise behind the nearer waves,

Spaces unveil beyond the nearer space ;

Horizons spread, unroll, and disappear !

And far beyond this snow, these gloomy clouds,

Behold the Blue, — the azure vault of Heaven !

The spring is blooming in the west ; beyond

This Moscovy, this hell of snow and ice,

I see the verdure of my native soil !

Thousands of flags unfurled are floating wide

Above a crowd of limitless extent !

It is a Diet as in days of old,

Assembled in the open alFof Heaven!

On that great Plain how happy are my Brothers !

How brilliant in the sun's warm golden light !

I see, I feel them with my eager looks ;

Should I advance a step, I'd touch them with my hands !

Nothing again can ever make me suffer !

Oh, let me look at them ! again ! again !

Gaze on them till my heart is satisfied !

XXIV.

The Diet opens, — they deliberate !

That living ])lain, covered with human heads.

Is by a single impulse tossed and swayed.

Like grain-fields when the wind breathes over them.

Above the sea of heads rise everywhere

Innumerable rows of arms, which point

All towards the North — as if in mute command.

A glorious troop of horsemen now detach

Them from the throng, and journey toward the North.

My brothers they, of Lithuania, Poland !

The assembly of the nation disappears,

Left far behind ; and I can only sec



THE LAST. 479

The troop of horsemen cleaving boundless space !

How rapid is their course ! Like lightning, they \.

Cross hills and valleys, flying toward the North !

Angels of my release, my heart salutes you !

Our national colors, scarlet, white, adorn

Your vestments ; sabres glitter in your hands

Like battle lightnings ! Proudly ye cleave the air,

Eagles of God. Triumphantly ye pass

These frozen steppes of cruel Moscovy,

Where nor the Czar, nor any other Satan

Can e'er again against your might prevail !

My Brothers seek me ! My white eagles fly !

XXV.

On these vast plains, what temples numberless
And infamous, rise for the Czar-god's worship !
What forts of stone, with human blood cemented !
What gloomy prisons meet you on your way !
I see you pause at every grated door,
Dismount, and, by some supernatural power,
Compel the jailers to descend with you
To subterranean cells below all light !
My God !
I hear the joyous cry of life
Re-echoing through the sepulchres of death,
While shadowy ghosts, victims of Moscovy,
Return to light of day, rescued by you !
The Breath of God urges you on anew \
On, Brothers, on ! . . .

XXVI.

During the light of day, the gloom of night.

My eye pursues your ceaseless, rapid course !

What rapture ! Brothers ! You have already passed

Through the Black lands ; enter my boundless plains

Of snow ! Does not earth wear another face?

This is the realm of cold, of ice, of frost,

Of exiled misery, of eternal death !

O Heaven ! Our scarlet banner warms the very snow !

The rays which scatter from your dazzling brows

Clothe this ice-desert in resplendent light !

Haste ! Haste ! My Brothers ! faster fly to me !



4So THE LAST.

They urge their steeds, — they gallop proudly on !
How beautiful — robed in our national hues!
Aid me, my Lord ! or else my heart will burst !

XXVII.

They come ! They see this fortress Moscovite !
Yes, yes, they see ! They turn their horses' heads !
They rush along the trench — like lightning leap it !
Soon they will come to break these bolts and bars !
A moment more, — the twinkling of an eye, —
Poland will enter in my cell to give
Me back the life I offered, lost for her !
Be praised, O God, that even evil ends I
I shall not die alone and in despair !
Be glorified, my God !

XXVIII.

What is it, O my Brothers? Why thus rein
Your steeds so suddenly? Ah ! you have met
A tribe nomadic,* stop to question it.
Oh, come to me ! you've but a step to make !
Waste not your time with those poor savages !
They only seek for moss beneath the snow ;
'Tis all they know ; they have no higher care !
Sometimes a Moscovite may join their ranks;
But trust him not; he is more brute than they,
For they at least are simple, frank of heart.
Why do you stop and talk with that wild horde?
My Brothers ! O my Brothers !

XXIX.

The air is calm and still ; I hear each word.

My Brothers ask : " Within these gloomy walls,

Are any Poles condemned to punishment

Because their conscience would not let them kneel

To worship the God-Czar? "

I hear the answer one among them makes :

** Here only suffers crime ! Robbers and thieves,

* There are still in Siberia remnants of the indigenous tribes, such as
the Toungouses, the Ostiaks, the Samoyedes, etc.



THE LAST. 481

Assassins, parricides, fill all these cells. "

O lie ! O lie ! believe it not, clear Brothers !

Again the voices of my countrymen

Resound across these desolate wastes of snow :

" Not for such victims came we here to search

Your prisons. Poland holy is, she seeks

Alone the martyrs in her sacred cause !

Let vile assassins rot in Russian dungeons !

God only can absolve them in the sky ;

On this earth Poland has no pardon for them. "

XXX.

God ! . . . My Brothers 1 . . . Wait ! one moment

wait 1
Turn not in haste your bridles to avoid
This place accursed ! , Alas ! for centuries
I've waited for you here! This hope alpiie
Has given strength to bear protracted torments !
And now the power of the Moscovites
Is broken ; they are forced to ope our cells ;
The ages of our torture are all o'er;
And you at last are here 1 What rapturous joy !
Why do you pause? . . . You are so very near me;
Can you not hear me, Brothers, when I cry ?

1 am no murderer ! No parricide !

I have not killed my father, nor my mother !
I'm no assassin, but the constant foe
Of him who is the assassin of us all !
Look ! this way look ! I stretch my arms toward you !
Great God ! in pity turn their eyes on me !
To me ! To me ! Here ! Here ! this is my cell !
I strive to reach you, — this chain holds me back 1
Oh, wait one moment ! Let me try again !
With my thin hands I strive to wrench my fetters !
Strain every nerve to break them if I can !
Blood covers them ! Alas ! they do not yield !
Do you not hear my shrieks of harrowing anguish?
Stop in tlie name of God 1 One moment stay 1 . . .
I'll try again to break away this chain !
O grant me but one single second more 1
******
41*



482 THE LAST.

O hour of bliss! . . . Of utmost agony! . . .
My God, they turn away ! they spur their steeds !
Do you not hear me, O my countrymen,
My Brothers, and my only friends on earth ?
See ! I am here ! buried within this vault!
Return ! Return ! I supplicate ! Return !

* * 5); :)i >); :(:

My senses reel ! A fog envelops all !

It drifts between my consciousness and me !

My eyes no longer pierce the walls . . .

XXXI.

God ! My God ! Again I hear a sound, —
The galloping of horses o'er the snow, —
Crackling of ice under their iron hoofs!

Do they return to find a Brother here ? . . .
Farther and farther — ever less distinct —
Diminishing with every step from me —
Forever and forever die away
The blessed footfalls o'er the waste of snow !
Now I hear nothing more !

They have forsaken me !
******
Is it a wretched dream? No, it is truth !
They have been here ! My Brothers have been here !
They have abandoned me ! left me to die
In the midst of murderers and parricides,
In the hour of Resurrection |

XXXII.

Do I not hear the neigh of horses still?

1 am deceived, and there may yet be time!
But I am chained within my coffin's vault!
Can I not wrench the clamp? tear it awav

From these damp walls? break but one single link?
On ! on ! my breast ! Forward, my skeleton arms !
All that is man within me strive ! On ! on !
Ah ! that is well ! flow fast, my crimson blood !
Perhaps there yet is time ! Aid me, O God !

n* * 'F SP 5|C ^ 5jC



THE LAST. '•^__:_l . ; 483

Ah ! useless efforts ! I am growing Aveak,

My sight is reeling and my blood flows fast,

My chains clash without brealciRg ! No one comes !

No one in all the world will ^t/^r "come to aid me !

Silence and immobility return

To float forever o'er this dark, still hell !

Where are you? Where? . . . Ah ! can it really be,

They have been here, my Brothers have been here,

And have abandoned me, — left me to rot

With felons, murderers, and parricides.

In the very hour of national Resurrection !

XXXIII.

Are you my. Brothers ? . . . No ! My exeeutioners !

You've robbed me of my poor remains of life !

But who can say ? . . . Perhaps in younger days

I did indeed commit some dreadful crime;

Murdered my father, mother, brother, sister,

And now have quite forgot it in this grave?

Bat they, my Brothers, knew it all too well,

And so have left me in perdition's gulf!

Nay, none of those were crimes by me committed ;

We'll seek some other possible offense !

Who is it driving daggers in my head ?

Who rakes my brains with talons, pincers, hooks?