With the
most beautiful of these we may include the idyl "Lau-
ra and Philon.
most beautiful of these we may include the idyl "Lau-
ra and Philon.
Poland - 1881 - Poets and Poetry of Poland
KNIAZN?
IN.
101
For another has plucked the red rose from the stem,
And the beautiful flower in his bosom will bloom,
Whilst I, like a spirit from heaven cast out,
Am sentenced to Erebus, sorrow, and gloom.
ETERNITY.
Holy Eternity! Thou w T ork of wonder!
In thy belief all virtuous hearts concur ;
Those that have in thee hopeful confidence
Paint thee in tints of rare magnificence !
While others trembling for themselves in fear
Would with doubt's gloom thy sacred light obscure.
The earth and fathomless sea
Are worthy of God's dignity,
And thou wilt forever with them endure! -
Time, in its broken and unbroken flight,
Going we perceive not how and whither,
Is only a small branch from thee grown hither,
Unfolding till it with thee unite.
RELIGION.
Religion, thou blessed and holy name!
Thy sovereignty and thy power how great!
How many virtues rare within thee wait
For hearts that can thy presence truly claim.
How happy on this earth the man may be
Whose eyes thy truth and glory can perceive;
A guard thou art for all that will believe,
A shield from sin for those that cling to thee.
In trouble, consolation lies in thee ;
Thou bindest man to God with holy chain,
Misfortune linked with hope forgets its pain !
Thou bind'st the Present with Eternity.
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? 102 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
MORAWSKI.
Feancis Morawski differs from other poets in this
respect: that he was named " A Soldier Poet. " Sub-
sequently we see his easy and unrestrained wit soaring
in his fugitive verses, but with such happy turns and
skill, and above all such humor, which in our literature
is exceptional and rare, and belongs neither to the
classic nor romantic school, that we may say he stands
by himself. Morawski's mind was very flexible, he
being a frequenter hot only at camp-societies, but also
a welcome visitor of fashionable salons, giving him an
opportunity to acquire that ease and pleasing mien
which never forsook him even to the last moments of
his life.
When he was twenty he belonged to the classic
school. Between twenty and thirty he waged a liter-
ary war with the so-called romantic school, and
although his letters and satires were only in manu-
script, they circulated freely and had a great repute, as
indeed they were very forcible and witty.
In the fourth decade of his life we see him writing
ballads and romances; in the fifth he is the translator
of "Andromache," and then he finishes his poetic
career by " A Yisit Into the Neighborhood," and a
poem, "The Home of My Grandfather. " They were
indeed all true Polish pictures, -- replete with, and full
of, old-time diction, simplicity of language, and faithful
delineations of historical figures. And thus Morawski,
commencing only as a soldier poet, subsequently goes
through other periods, and with a flexibility peculiar
to himself, -- everything new that came into repute in
the literary world.
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? MORAWSKI. 103
He was born in 1785 in the Great Duchy of Posen,
and received a careful education at Leszno. He after-
ward attended a law school at Frankfurt, and subse-
quently at Kalish. In the year 1806 he served in the
National army and participated in the great wars of
Napoleon, and reached the rank of the chief of staff.
His eulogy, delivered at the funeral ceremony of Prince
Joseph Poniatowski, 23d of December, 1813, was a
splendid effort of oratory. During the existence of
the Duchy of Warsaw he served in the Polish army,
and in 1819 obtained the rank of brigadier-general.
During his sojourn at Warsaw he frequently visited
General Vincent Krasin? ski, whose house was the as-
semblage of distinguished men representing literature.
After the year 1831, having suffered imprisonment at
Wo? ogda, in Russia, he retired to Posen, and settled in
a village called Lubonia, where he wrote poetry, prin-
cipally for a literary publication called "The Friend
of the People," issued at Leszno. He died in 1861.
His works were published at Breslau; then a col-
lection of poetry in 1841; at Leszno in 1851, and St.
Petersburg in 1855. His son published his Fables at
Posen in 1862; Five Poems of Lord Byron at Leszno
in 1853.
A sketch of his life, written by L. Siemien? ski in
the . Polish Review, was published at Cracow in 1866.
GIERMEK. *
Once in Poland's land deep sadness
Filled the people ev'rywhere,
For the Swede with war's fierce madness
Conquered all and none would spare.
* Squire or shield-bearer.
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? 104 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
In the lindens' shadows dreary,
Strayed the army's broken band;
By the camp-fires dumb and weary
Mused the warriors of the land.
When a bard with white hair flowing,
Came the shattered ranks among;
Well they knew those accents glowing,
As he touched his lute and sung:
Olden themes can tell a story
Charming every heart and ear;
Olden tales of valor's glory,
Ev'ry patriot loves to hear.
Once we stood a lofty tower,
And a shield firm-fixed and strong
To repel the foreign power
Moved to work our people wrong.
On the foes of other nations
Fast our Polish arrows poured ;
Sang we Freedom's exultations
And the peace that we adored.
Clash of armies fierce contending,
Anguished moans and trumpets swell,
With pursuits wild thunders blending,
Formed the hymns we knew full well.
Ev'ning's light serene and solemn
Sets Petrolia's fields aglow;
Comes the army's stately column,
Unappalled to meet the foe.
Wagons, caissons, onward sweeping,
Shake the ground with thundrous pace,
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? MORAWSKI. 105
Rich the field for Death's grim reaping,
As the threatening armies face.
On one side in spotless glory
Faith's bright banner fluttered high
O'er brave youths and hetman hoary
For the right prepared to die.
Mad with passion's wild commotion
On the other side arrayed,
Raging like a troubled ocean,
Tartar rabble's ranks displayed.
Sank the sun in blood, as warning
Every one that strife is near;
Carnage dire begins when morning
In the flushed East shall appear.
Now the Polish chief, attended
By trained bearer of his shield,
When the first dusk has descended
Mounts resolved to scan the field.
Now the foes' dark camp surveying.
Rides he numbering fires alight, --
Hears their buzz, their horses' neighing,
And in thought has caused their flight.
Chief restrain thy soaring fancies
Tartars fight with desperate zeal ;
Swift and changeful war's wild chances,
Hark ! those sounds raised peal on peal.
'Tis the Tartars' rabble forces,
All the camp is now alarmed;
Cries the chief : "Quick! to your horses! "
Ghief, -- shield-bearer, -- all are armed.
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? 106 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Through the darkness dense prevailing,
Through tumultuous rising sound,
'Mid the ranks they rush assailing
The fixed rabble that surround.
Now the young shield-bearer breaking,
From his youth merged fire and life;
In his arm while still unshaking,
Brave-souled hetman led the strife.
Hear they coming in the distance,
Polish warriors! glorious bands!
But too late is their assistance;
Destined they for Tartars' hands.
Youth is taken! -- hetman taken!
'Mid a savage shout prolonged;
Stubborn Khan with anger shaken
Views the captives he has wronged.
With a fierce revenge that never
Boil'd with greater malice, he
Soon decrees the two forever
Shackled foot to foot shall be.
To the skies above them shining,
Lifted they their tear-dimmed eyes;
Yet why sing I their repining
Reveries sad and hopeless sighs?
He who never had to languish
In fell slavery's chains can know
All a captive's bitter anguish,
In the power of ruthless foe.
Who in grief vain and despairing,
Has bedewed his food with tears,
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? MORAWSKI. 107
'Midst a savage rabble bearing
Pain untold, long suffering years.
For a time in mournful dreaming
Sat the bard, depressed and mute;
With the silent tears down streaming,
Then resumed his song and lute.
Soon the hetman gray is sleeping,
Hushed to rest as 'mid his own;
But the youth a watch is keeping,
Wrapped in dreams of home alone.
Full of grief and pain, no sighing
Or embittered tear relieves;
On the ground beside him lying
He a glittering axe perceives.
Trembling, dreaming, thinking, yearning,
Filled with purpose high he stands,
Noble fire within him burning,
Grasps the axe with vigorous hands!
On his iron shackles gazing,
Firm, unfaltering aim he takes
At his foot; -- the axe upraising --
Severed 'tis -- the chief awakes !
Cries the youth : thy people need thee,
Slumbering guards the way leave clear.
Conquer Khan, for I have freed thee,
Joyfully I will perish here.
Rose the chief, -- the youth confided
To God's care while tears flowed fast,
Blest him, from the dungeon glided
And the slumbering sentry past.
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? 108 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Suddenly the guards awaken !
Find no prisoner but the youth,
To the Khan the news is taken,
Hastened he to prove its truth.
Scarce believing what was told him,
In the youth's bold eyes he gazed,
Doubting though he did behold him,
Strove to read him -- sore amazed.
Virtue conquers Hate's fell power;
Cure the youth -- 'tis my command,
Said the Khan, -- and with rich dower
Send him to his native land.
Now before the court -- all wearing
Radiant robes of royal sheen,
Comes the youth with grateful bearing,
Walking two famed knights between.
With a crutch his form sustaining,
Now the beauteous youth appears,
Wonder in their bosoms reigning,
All the court is moved to tears.
Comes the youth deep homage showing
To the king placed on his throne,
Who a famous sword bestowing
Named him knight, while thro' his own
Circle came the hetman hoary
With a golden foot, and turned
To the youth. " Distinctive glory,"
Said the king, " you've richly earned.
" This your coat-of-arms for wearing,
All in mem'ry of your deeds;
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? MORAWSKI. 109
Full of virtue, full of daring. "
Then the martyred youth he leads
'Mid the people's shouts up pealing
To the blest altar of the Lord;
And before it humbly kneeling,
There he fervently implored
That success might e'er attend them;
Prays he to the God of heaven
That more heroes he will send them
For their country's glory given.
Then the bard no longer raising
His free song, -- his lute has stilled,
While his eyes are deeply gazing
In the hearts his song has thrilled.
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? KARPIN? SKIE MONUMENT AT KO? OMYIA (GALICIA).
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? KAKPLN? SKI. Ill
KARPIN? SKI.
Francis Karpin? ski is one of those few who, during
the reign of Stanislaus Augustus, deserve the name of
true poets. He differs from the old classical Polish
poets in this, that they were artistic and followed cer-
tain rules of composition with much strictness, but
Karpin? ski, too sincere to bend that way, chooses no
especial system, but sings like a bird, he breathes what
he has in his soul, and spreads the feelings of his heart
right before us. In his Thyrses and Corydons we can
plainly see the rustics of Polish villages with small no-
bility in the background.
Karpin ski's songs breathe the elegiac, rustic spirit,
remote from overstrung cares sings and fondlings and
erratic reveries. He sang with a sincere feeling, de-
scribing his emotions almost with a childlike simplicity
-- though every thought seems combined with feeling,
and every feeling is represented by a corresponding
pen image. All his original poetry bears a stamp of
sadness. Some of these songs can fairly compare with
the most beautiful compositions of Goethe. It is al-
most impossible to find anything equal to them as re-
gards delicacy of feeling and expression.
With the
most beautiful of these we may include the idyl "Lau-
ra and Philon. " His religious songs hit exactly the
heart of the popular feeling. They are simple and art-
less, and always worthy of their subject. Among these
we can mention "The Morning Hymn," u All of Our
Daily Doings," " During the Labor in the Field," etc.
All these songs are destined to remain forever on the
lips of the people.
As a political poet Karpin? ski has no significance,
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? 112 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
for he never took active part in the troublous move-
ments during the reign of Stanislaus Augustus, al-
though he wrote a few threns, consecrating them to the
cause of his country, one of them on ' ' The 3d of May,
1791," and another "The Lament of a Sarmatian
Over the Grave of Stanislaus Augustus, the Last
Polish King from the House of Jagellons. " His song
stopped with the sad fate of his country, and he him-
self said that he laid down his lute on the grave of
Sigismund.
Karpin? ski excels in sad themes and grave subjects.
"The Duma of Ludgarda" is a fine specimen of the
kind.
He was born in 1741, and commenced his education
at Lemberg (Leopol or Lwo? w), then for a short time
he was engaged in law practice, but he soon became
tired of it and traveled in foreign countries. He re-
mained in Vienna for about one and a half years, de-
voting himself to studies. Returning to his own coun-
try he for some time followed farming, and then he
became an inmate of Prince Czartoryiski's family, and
finally held the office of Secretary of the Interior
under King Stanislaus Augustus. Retiring from the
office the king persuaded him to accept the tutorship
of young Prince Radziwi? , but after a lapse of a year
he left the lucrative place and took in rentage the vil-
lage of Kros? niak and again engaged in farming.
In the year 1807 he went to Warsaw, but soon quit
the capital and returned once more to the peace and
quiet of a country life, where he passed the remainder
of his days in seclusion. Being a single man he left
his property to his relatives. He died in 1825. He
was called the poet of the heart.
His works were published at Warsaw in 1792, 1806,
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? KARPIN? SKI. 113
and 1830, in Breslau 1826, in Leipsic 1836, and by Tu-
rowski, in Cracow, 1862.
Besides these his comedy, "The Rent," came out
in 1782; the tragedy, "Boleslas III," Warsaw 1790,
and " The Memoirs of the Times From 1741 to 1822,"
published by Moraczewski, Posen 1844, and Lemberg
1849. Anton Kornilowicz wrote "Life and Writings
of Karpin? ski," Wilno 1827.
MORNING HYMN.
"Kiedy ranne wstaja? zorze. "
When the morning stars are rising,
Earth and sea thy glories praising,
Join all nature's voice in singing,
Praise to thee, Oh God, we're bringing !
Man on whom thou'st poured rich treasure,
Endless bounties without measure,
By Thy power redeemed, life given,
Why not praise Thee, God of heaven!
When at morn I first awaken,
On my lips Thy name is taken,
And I call on God profoundly,
Then I seek Him all around me!
Yesternight were many taken,
To the sleep that ne'er shall waken,
While our ling' ring breath is given --
For Thy praise, great God in heaven!
EVENING HYMN.
Through the past day our behavior,
With mercy accept just Savior,
And when we sink to dreamful sleep,
May praise of Thee our visions keep.
8
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? 114 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
As Thy eyes are turned upon us,
Day and night are looking on us,
Where feeble and weary mortals,
Wait for help from out Thy portals.
Turn away the dark night's terror,
Save us Lord from shafts of error,
Judge and Guardian in Thy keeping,
Have us waking, have us sleeping.
YEARNINGS IN THE SPRING.
Full many times the sun has come and gone
And favored the day with light ;
But from my life all sunshine has withdrawn
Why must I ever walk in night?
The grain is shooting up so fresh, so . fair,
Almost the heads begin to show ;
So verdant are the wide fields ev'rywhere,
Why does my precious wheat not grow?
Within the grove sweet sings the nightingale,
Echoes the grove its melody;
Gaily the birds sing in the woodland and vale,
But my bird does not sing for me !
Many flowers have sprung from the moist ground,
After a reviving shower;
Bright tinted are the meadows all around,
Oh ! why springs for me no flower ?
How long, O Spring! shall I beseech in vain?
Disconsolate I sigh and yearn ;
While my sad tears have bathed the earth in rain,
For this, a harvest rich return.
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? KARPIN? SKI. 115
PEACE THAT VIRTUE BRINGS.
Whoever paints virtue sad, has seen
But little of her charms serene;
E'er pleasantly she smiles nor sighs,
Nor turns aside her lovely eyes.
Naught can the deeps of her calmness stir,
Fortune, misfortune, are alike to her.
In vain mishaps to work her ill
Their poisonous darts make sharper still;
She meets them as the steadfast rock
Receives unmoved the sea wave's shock
Or as the fire that burns with ardent glow
In gold's bright semblance more and more will grow.
His country Socrates loved well,
And for its cause drank poison fell,
Nor felt a fear, but strong and brave
To friends beside him counsel gave;
Anitus grumbled in amaze to see
E'en death could not annoy that spirit free.
Why runs he with distracted air?
Why sadly weeps and tears his hair?
He grieves because that has been done
For which no help is 'neath the sun.
Let him a hundred years lament, 'tis vain ;
A farthing's worth it helps not to complain.
The chain in ages past begun,
Wrought from the world's swift changes, none;
Can it undo save He whose hand
Linked it together as He planned?
Why grieve then for what is or for what was,
Since all is ruled by just, eternal laws?
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? 116 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Brief are our lives and naught we know
Of the to-morrow. Since tis so,
Why should we borrow care or sour
With needless fears a single hour?
Gold's worshipers may tremble full of fear,
No cause to tremble have God's children dear.
Upon the path with thorns entwined,
Fragrant flowers youll also find:
Then let us forward bravely go,
Nor mind a little pain, although
We are stung at times, it is said a wound
Heals quick where roses without thorns are found.
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? WORONICZ. 117
WORONICZ.
John Paul Woronicz occupies one of the most
distinguished places among the poets of Poland. In
genius he surpasses many of his contemporaries,
characterized by the purely national simplicity of the
olden times. At the decline of the old epoch he comes
in as a new prophet of other times and other peoples,
dissimilar in the outlook of the present generation, but
inimitable and incomparable. He did no homage to
the new conceptions, innovations, or impressions of the
age he lived in, drawing his subjects from historical
elements and historical reminiscences, the faith of his
ancestors; from the burning feelings of the purest
patriotism gushed forth his poetical inspirations, and,
like a true bard of the people, he was their interpreter
and their embodiment in their grandest national rem-
iniscences.
In many respects Woronicz is allied to the two
greatest bards of the Holy Scriptures. He combined
the ardor of Ezekiel with the tender emotions of Jere-
miah, and it can be truly asserted that no poet was ever
more impressed with them than Woronicz, no poet bet-
ter appreciated them than he did.
The feeling of national pride was the chief theme of
his lyrics, but their tenor is sad and the intrinsic con-
struction of his songs is solemn. He paid but little
attention to their smoothness, correctness, and finish.
Bold and manly conceptions are so molded as to
purposely give them the form of perpetuity.
In his " Hymn to God " the bard sings of the won-
derful goodness of God to the Polish nation. We see
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? 118 POETS AND POETKY OF POLAND.
here as if an apotheosis of the whole people was ex-
alted to the highest and almost gigantic extent. Sub-
lime poetic art flows into a deeply affecting and re-
ligious strain; the load of grief is raised heavenward,
where buoyant imagination takes its flight into the
highest regions of sublimity; for it represents the
whole nation chanting the covenant made with God for
a thousand years.
His "Temple of the Sybil" is an epopee, a hymn
of Poland's glory, sung in praise of national deeds and
patriotic remembrances; heroic deeds of valor are un-
earthed from the ruins of the past -- of nine hundred
years -- its glories and its trophies are the historical
themes of this great poetic creation. The style of ex-
pression, the ardor, and the extraordinary boldness of
imagery are the characteristics of the poem. Similar
literary qualities characterize also his "Lech," "The
Diet of Wis? lica," and "The Dissertation on National
Songs. "
Woronicz was born in 1759, in the province of Vol-
hynia, and was educated at the Jesuit College in Os-
trowo. He joined the order when quite young.
On account of his unusual talents he was called to a
professorship at that college, and filled his duties so
well that he received commendations of not only his
superiors, but also thanks of those whom he taught.
After the abolition of the order in 1773 he obtained
a situation at the Mission at Warsaw, and giving him-
self up to arduous labors he became so erudite in learn-
ing that he commanded the respect of the most dis-
tinguished and learned heads of the church. Adam
Ceciszewski, the bishop of Kijow, as also of Garnysz,
the bishop of Che? mno, frequently consulted with him
in regard to church affairs. In this way the young
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? WORONICZ. 119
chaplain paved his way to the acquaintance of the king,
Stanislaus Augustus. In 1795 he left Warsaw, and was
satisfied with the modest parsonage at Liwo, and with
much ardor gave himself up to the duties of a country
pastor. From Liwo he was assigned to the curacy of Casi-
mir, in the neighborhood of Pu? awy, where the sight
of "The Temple of the Sybil" filled with so many
national souvenirs and relics furnished him the materi-
als for composing the celebrated poem of that name.
The society of "Friends of the Sciences" at Warsaw
made him a member. Being again assigned to a new
curacy at Powsinie, near Warsaw, and before he had yet
settled at his new parish, Frederick August called him
to fill the office of a dean at the cathedral at Warsaw,
and a counsellor of state. In this new situation he
soon was known as an orator of great distinction.
When the remains of the heroic Prince Poniatowski,
who perished at the battle of Leipsic, in 1813, were
brought to Warsaw, Woronicz delivered a funeral ora-
tion which stands up to this day as the highest effort of
the kind. Afterward the Emperor Alexander I made
him bishop of Cracow. In the year 1829 he was as-
signed to the archdiocese of Warsaw, to which was at-
tached the dignity of the Primate, and while holding
that high office he presided and conducted the corona-
tion of Nicholas I as the King of Poland. Soon after
Woronicz left Warsaw for Vienna in order to recover
his failing health, but unhappily soon after his arrival
there he died, December 4, 1829.
A collection of his poems was published in Cracow
1832, and in Leipsic in two volumes in 1833.
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? 120 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
FROM THE TEMPLE OF THE SYBIL. *
Oracle of Hesperian lands ! fame crowns thy brow
Of vast and sacred groves, all-powerful abbess thou!
To whilom lost and scattered Trojan bands, once more
Hast shown the welcome headland of safe fortified shore.
Later, with wonderful mysteries hast led apace
To glory grand and great their ever-conquering race.
Now having forsaken Cumsean rock renowned
Thou hast on Vistula's shores a shining temple found !
Let me in? my song praise of thy new abode proclaim,
And praise of the people long extinct -- and of their name !
Here shepherds gather from all the heaths by winding ways,
Remind one of the olden, happy, vanished days,
That he possessed the name of fortunate, whose soul
Could not the whole world govern, but could himself control,
Who faithful as a friend, and as a father kind and wise
Wiped full many bitter tears from sorrowing eyes--
His riches counted he in sheaves and in herds alone --
But far more than these the wealth of love was all his own.
His nature serenely high was also gently bland
And worthy of the virtuous Amarylla's hand,
With whom in affection and peace for aye lived he,
In concord sweet unruffled by adversity.
Craved he no other's goods -- but wholly was content,
His old age was adorned by love and honors blent,
And when called to his last resting place, calmly slept --
Regretted by all in truth -- by all sincerely wept. f
* Temple of the Sybil. A lofty building in the garden of Pu? awy,
erected in imitation of the Temple of Tiburtine Sybil on the river
Teverone, in Italy, by Princess Isabella Czartoryiska, as a depository
of Polish national souvenirs by a cove of the river Vistula, and at the
base of a mountain among beautiful trees. It bears an inscription :
" The Past of the Future. "
f Prince Adam Czartoryiski. The family of Czartoryiski comes
from the lineal of a royal family of Gedymines.
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For another has plucked the red rose from the stem,
And the beautiful flower in his bosom will bloom,
Whilst I, like a spirit from heaven cast out,
Am sentenced to Erebus, sorrow, and gloom.
ETERNITY.
Holy Eternity! Thou w T ork of wonder!
In thy belief all virtuous hearts concur ;
Those that have in thee hopeful confidence
Paint thee in tints of rare magnificence !
While others trembling for themselves in fear
Would with doubt's gloom thy sacred light obscure.
The earth and fathomless sea
Are worthy of God's dignity,
And thou wilt forever with them endure! -
Time, in its broken and unbroken flight,
Going we perceive not how and whither,
Is only a small branch from thee grown hither,
Unfolding till it with thee unite.
RELIGION.
Religion, thou blessed and holy name!
Thy sovereignty and thy power how great!
How many virtues rare within thee wait
For hearts that can thy presence truly claim.
How happy on this earth the man may be
Whose eyes thy truth and glory can perceive;
A guard thou art for all that will believe,
A shield from sin for those that cling to thee.
In trouble, consolation lies in thee ;
Thou bindest man to God with holy chain,
Misfortune linked with hope forgets its pain !
Thou bind'st the Present with Eternity.
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? 102 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
MORAWSKI.
Feancis Morawski differs from other poets in this
respect: that he was named " A Soldier Poet. " Sub-
sequently we see his easy and unrestrained wit soaring
in his fugitive verses, but with such happy turns and
skill, and above all such humor, which in our literature
is exceptional and rare, and belongs neither to the
classic nor romantic school, that we may say he stands
by himself. Morawski's mind was very flexible, he
being a frequenter hot only at camp-societies, but also
a welcome visitor of fashionable salons, giving him an
opportunity to acquire that ease and pleasing mien
which never forsook him even to the last moments of
his life.
When he was twenty he belonged to the classic
school. Between twenty and thirty he waged a liter-
ary war with the so-called romantic school, and
although his letters and satires were only in manu-
script, they circulated freely and had a great repute, as
indeed they were very forcible and witty.
In the fourth decade of his life we see him writing
ballads and romances; in the fifth he is the translator
of "Andromache," and then he finishes his poetic
career by " A Yisit Into the Neighborhood," and a
poem, "The Home of My Grandfather. " They were
indeed all true Polish pictures, -- replete with, and full
of, old-time diction, simplicity of language, and faithful
delineations of historical figures. And thus Morawski,
commencing only as a soldier poet, subsequently goes
through other periods, and with a flexibility peculiar
to himself, -- everything new that came into repute in
the literary world.
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? MORAWSKI. 103
He was born in 1785 in the Great Duchy of Posen,
and received a careful education at Leszno. He after-
ward attended a law school at Frankfurt, and subse-
quently at Kalish. In the year 1806 he served in the
National army and participated in the great wars of
Napoleon, and reached the rank of the chief of staff.
His eulogy, delivered at the funeral ceremony of Prince
Joseph Poniatowski, 23d of December, 1813, was a
splendid effort of oratory. During the existence of
the Duchy of Warsaw he served in the Polish army,
and in 1819 obtained the rank of brigadier-general.
During his sojourn at Warsaw he frequently visited
General Vincent Krasin? ski, whose house was the as-
semblage of distinguished men representing literature.
After the year 1831, having suffered imprisonment at
Wo? ogda, in Russia, he retired to Posen, and settled in
a village called Lubonia, where he wrote poetry, prin-
cipally for a literary publication called "The Friend
of the People," issued at Leszno. He died in 1861.
His works were published at Breslau; then a col-
lection of poetry in 1841; at Leszno in 1851, and St.
Petersburg in 1855. His son published his Fables at
Posen in 1862; Five Poems of Lord Byron at Leszno
in 1853.
A sketch of his life, written by L. Siemien? ski in
the . Polish Review, was published at Cracow in 1866.
GIERMEK. *
Once in Poland's land deep sadness
Filled the people ev'rywhere,
For the Swede with war's fierce madness
Conquered all and none would spare.
* Squire or shield-bearer.
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? 104 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
In the lindens' shadows dreary,
Strayed the army's broken band;
By the camp-fires dumb and weary
Mused the warriors of the land.
When a bard with white hair flowing,
Came the shattered ranks among;
Well they knew those accents glowing,
As he touched his lute and sung:
Olden themes can tell a story
Charming every heart and ear;
Olden tales of valor's glory,
Ev'ry patriot loves to hear.
Once we stood a lofty tower,
And a shield firm-fixed and strong
To repel the foreign power
Moved to work our people wrong.
On the foes of other nations
Fast our Polish arrows poured ;
Sang we Freedom's exultations
And the peace that we adored.
Clash of armies fierce contending,
Anguished moans and trumpets swell,
With pursuits wild thunders blending,
Formed the hymns we knew full well.
Ev'ning's light serene and solemn
Sets Petrolia's fields aglow;
Comes the army's stately column,
Unappalled to meet the foe.
Wagons, caissons, onward sweeping,
Shake the ground with thundrous pace,
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? MORAWSKI. 105
Rich the field for Death's grim reaping,
As the threatening armies face.
On one side in spotless glory
Faith's bright banner fluttered high
O'er brave youths and hetman hoary
For the right prepared to die.
Mad with passion's wild commotion
On the other side arrayed,
Raging like a troubled ocean,
Tartar rabble's ranks displayed.
Sank the sun in blood, as warning
Every one that strife is near;
Carnage dire begins when morning
In the flushed East shall appear.
Now the Polish chief, attended
By trained bearer of his shield,
When the first dusk has descended
Mounts resolved to scan the field.
Now the foes' dark camp surveying.
Rides he numbering fires alight, --
Hears their buzz, their horses' neighing,
And in thought has caused their flight.
Chief restrain thy soaring fancies
Tartars fight with desperate zeal ;
Swift and changeful war's wild chances,
Hark ! those sounds raised peal on peal.
'Tis the Tartars' rabble forces,
All the camp is now alarmed;
Cries the chief : "Quick! to your horses! "
Ghief, -- shield-bearer, -- all are armed.
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? 106 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Through the darkness dense prevailing,
Through tumultuous rising sound,
'Mid the ranks they rush assailing
The fixed rabble that surround.
Now the young shield-bearer breaking,
From his youth merged fire and life;
In his arm while still unshaking,
Brave-souled hetman led the strife.
Hear they coming in the distance,
Polish warriors! glorious bands!
But too late is their assistance;
Destined they for Tartars' hands.
Youth is taken! -- hetman taken!
'Mid a savage shout prolonged;
Stubborn Khan with anger shaken
Views the captives he has wronged.
With a fierce revenge that never
Boil'd with greater malice, he
Soon decrees the two forever
Shackled foot to foot shall be.
To the skies above them shining,
Lifted they their tear-dimmed eyes;
Yet why sing I their repining
Reveries sad and hopeless sighs?
He who never had to languish
In fell slavery's chains can know
All a captive's bitter anguish,
In the power of ruthless foe.
Who in grief vain and despairing,
Has bedewed his food with tears,
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? MORAWSKI. 107
'Midst a savage rabble bearing
Pain untold, long suffering years.
For a time in mournful dreaming
Sat the bard, depressed and mute;
With the silent tears down streaming,
Then resumed his song and lute.
Soon the hetman gray is sleeping,
Hushed to rest as 'mid his own;
But the youth a watch is keeping,
Wrapped in dreams of home alone.
Full of grief and pain, no sighing
Or embittered tear relieves;
On the ground beside him lying
He a glittering axe perceives.
Trembling, dreaming, thinking, yearning,
Filled with purpose high he stands,
Noble fire within him burning,
Grasps the axe with vigorous hands!
On his iron shackles gazing,
Firm, unfaltering aim he takes
At his foot; -- the axe upraising --
Severed 'tis -- the chief awakes !
Cries the youth : thy people need thee,
Slumbering guards the way leave clear.
Conquer Khan, for I have freed thee,
Joyfully I will perish here.
Rose the chief, -- the youth confided
To God's care while tears flowed fast,
Blest him, from the dungeon glided
And the slumbering sentry past.
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? 108 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Suddenly the guards awaken !
Find no prisoner but the youth,
To the Khan the news is taken,
Hastened he to prove its truth.
Scarce believing what was told him,
In the youth's bold eyes he gazed,
Doubting though he did behold him,
Strove to read him -- sore amazed.
Virtue conquers Hate's fell power;
Cure the youth -- 'tis my command,
Said the Khan, -- and with rich dower
Send him to his native land.
Now before the court -- all wearing
Radiant robes of royal sheen,
Comes the youth with grateful bearing,
Walking two famed knights between.
With a crutch his form sustaining,
Now the beauteous youth appears,
Wonder in their bosoms reigning,
All the court is moved to tears.
Comes the youth deep homage showing
To the king placed on his throne,
Who a famous sword bestowing
Named him knight, while thro' his own
Circle came the hetman hoary
With a golden foot, and turned
To the youth. " Distinctive glory,"
Said the king, " you've richly earned.
" This your coat-of-arms for wearing,
All in mem'ry of your deeds;
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? MORAWSKI. 109
Full of virtue, full of daring. "
Then the martyred youth he leads
'Mid the people's shouts up pealing
To the blest altar of the Lord;
And before it humbly kneeling,
There he fervently implored
That success might e'er attend them;
Prays he to the God of heaven
That more heroes he will send them
For their country's glory given.
Then the bard no longer raising
His free song, -- his lute has stilled,
While his eyes are deeply gazing
In the hearts his song has thrilled.
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? KARPIN? SKIE MONUMENT AT KO? OMYIA (GALICIA).
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? KAKPLN? SKI. Ill
KARPIN? SKI.
Francis Karpin? ski is one of those few who, during
the reign of Stanislaus Augustus, deserve the name of
true poets. He differs from the old classical Polish
poets in this, that they were artistic and followed cer-
tain rules of composition with much strictness, but
Karpin? ski, too sincere to bend that way, chooses no
especial system, but sings like a bird, he breathes what
he has in his soul, and spreads the feelings of his heart
right before us. In his Thyrses and Corydons we can
plainly see the rustics of Polish villages with small no-
bility in the background.
Karpin ski's songs breathe the elegiac, rustic spirit,
remote from overstrung cares sings and fondlings and
erratic reveries. He sang with a sincere feeling, de-
scribing his emotions almost with a childlike simplicity
-- though every thought seems combined with feeling,
and every feeling is represented by a corresponding
pen image. All his original poetry bears a stamp of
sadness. Some of these songs can fairly compare with
the most beautiful compositions of Goethe. It is al-
most impossible to find anything equal to them as re-
gards delicacy of feeling and expression.
With the
most beautiful of these we may include the idyl "Lau-
ra and Philon. " His religious songs hit exactly the
heart of the popular feeling. They are simple and art-
less, and always worthy of their subject. Among these
we can mention "The Morning Hymn," u All of Our
Daily Doings," " During the Labor in the Field," etc.
All these songs are destined to remain forever on the
lips of the people.
As a political poet Karpin? ski has no significance,
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? 112 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
for he never took active part in the troublous move-
ments during the reign of Stanislaus Augustus, al-
though he wrote a few threns, consecrating them to the
cause of his country, one of them on ' ' The 3d of May,
1791," and another "The Lament of a Sarmatian
Over the Grave of Stanislaus Augustus, the Last
Polish King from the House of Jagellons. " His song
stopped with the sad fate of his country, and he him-
self said that he laid down his lute on the grave of
Sigismund.
Karpin? ski excels in sad themes and grave subjects.
"The Duma of Ludgarda" is a fine specimen of the
kind.
He was born in 1741, and commenced his education
at Lemberg (Leopol or Lwo? w), then for a short time
he was engaged in law practice, but he soon became
tired of it and traveled in foreign countries. He re-
mained in Vienna for about one and a half years, de-
voting himself to studies. Returning to his own coun-
try he for some time followed farming, and then he
became an inmate of Prince Czartoryiski's family, and
finally held the office of Secretary of the Interior
under King Stanislaus Augustus. Retiring from the
office the king persuaded him to accept the tutorship
of young Prince Radziwi? , but after a lapse of a year
he left the lucrative place and took in rentage the vil-
lage of Kros? niak and again engaged in farming.
In the year 1807 he went to Warsaw, but soon quit
the capital and returned once more to the peace and
quiet of a country life, where he passed the remainder
of his days in seclusion. Being a single man he left
his property to his relatives. He died in 1825. He
was called the poet of the heart.
His works were published at Warsaw in 1792, 1806,
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? KARPIN? SKI. 113
and 1830, in Breslau 1826, in Leipsic 1836, and by Tu-
rowski, in Cracow, 1862.
Besides these his comedy, "The Rent," came out
in 1782; the tragedy, "Boleslas III," Warsaw 1790,
and " The Memoirs of the Times From 1741 to 1822,"
published by Moraczewski, Posen 1844, and Lemberg
1849. Anton Kornilowicz wrote "Life and Writings
of Karpin? ski," Wilno 1827.
MORNING HYMN.
"Kiedy ranne wstaja? zorze. "
When the morning stars are rising,
Earth and sea thy glories praising,
Join all nature's voice in singing,
Praise to thee, Oh God, we're bringing !
Man on whom thou'st poured rich treasure,
Endless bounties without measure,
By Thy power redeemed, life given,
Why not praise Thee, God of heaven!
When at morn I first awaken,
On my lips Thy name is taken,
And I call on God profoundly,
Then I seek Him all around me!
Yesternight were many taken,
To the sleep that ne'er shall waken,
While our ling' ring breath is given --
For Thy praise, great God in heaven!
EVENING HYMN.
Through the past day our behavior,
With mercy accept just Savior,
And when we sink to dreamful sleep,
May praise of Thee our visions keep.
8
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? 114 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
As Thy eyes are turned upon us,
Day and night are looking on us,
Where feeble and weary mortals,
Wait for help from out Thy portals.
Turn away the dark night's terror,
Save us Lord from shafts of error,
Judge and Guardian in Thy keeping,
Have us waking, have us sleeping.
YEARNINGS IN THE SPRING.
Full many times the sun has come and gone
And favored the day with light ;
But from my life all sunshine has withdrawn
Why must I ever walk in night?
The grain is shooting up so fresh, so . fair,
Almost the heads begin to show ;
So verdant are the wide fields ev'rywhere,
Why does my precious wheat not grow?
Within the grove sweet sings the nightingale,
Echoes the grove its melody;
Gaily the birds sing in the woodland and vale,
But my bird does not sing for me !
Many flowers have sprung from the moist ground,
After a reviving shower;
Bright tinted are the meadows all around,
Oh ! why springs for me no flower ?
How long, O Spring! shall I beseech in vain?
Disconsolate I sigh and yearn ;
While my sad tears have bathed the earth in rain,
For this, a harvest rich return.
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? KARPIN? SKI. 115
PEACE THAT VIRTUE BRINGS.
Whoever paints virtue sad, has seen
But little of her charms serene;
E'er pleasantly she smiles nor sighs,
Nor turns aside her lovely eyes.
Naught can the deeps of her calmness stir,
Fortune, misfortune, are alike to her.
In vain mishaps to work her ill
Their poisonous darts make sharper still;
She meets them as the steadfast rock
Receives unmoved the sea wave's shock
Or as the fire that burns with ardent glow
In gold's bright semblance more and more will grow.
His country Socrates loved well,
And for its cause drank poison fell,
Nor felt a fear, but strong and brave
To friends beside him counsel gave;
Anitus grumbled in amaze to see
E'en death could not annoy that spirit free.
Why runs he with distracted air?
Why sadly weeps and tears his hair?
He grieves because that has been done
For which no help is 'neath the sun.
Let him a hundred years lament, 'tis vain ;
A farthing's worth it helps not to complain.
The chain in ages past begun,
Wrought from the world's swift changes, none;
Can it undo save He whose hand
Linked it together as He planned?
Why grieve then for what is or for what was,
Since all is ruled by just, eternal laws?
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? 116 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Brief are our lives and naught we know
Of the to-morrow. Since tis so,
Why should we borrow care or sour
With needless fears a single hour?
Gold's worshipers may tremble full of fear,
No cause to tremble have God's children dear.
Upon the path with thorns entwined,
Fragrant flowers youll also find:
Then let us forward bravely go,
Nor mind a little pain, although
We are stung at times, it is said a wound
Heals quick where roses without thorns are found.
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? WORONICZ. 117
WORONICZ.
John Paul Woronicz occupies one of the most
distinguished places among the poets of Poland. In
genius he surpasses many of his contemporaries,
characterized by the purely national simplicity of the
olden times. At the decline of the old epoch he comes
in as a new prophet of other times and other peoples,
dissimilar in the outlook of the present generation, but
inimitable and incomparable. He did no homage to
the new conceptions, innovations, or impressions of the
age he lived in, drawing his subjects from historical
elements and historical reminiscences, the faith of his
ancestors; from the burning feelings of the purest
patriotism gushed forth his poetical inspirations, and,
like a true bard of the people, he was their interpreter
and their embodiment in their grandest national rem-
iniscences.
In many respects Woronicz is allied to the two
greatest bards of the Holy Scriptures. He combined
the ardor of Ezekiel with the tender emotions of Jere-
miah, and it can be truly asserted that no poet was ever
more impressed with them than Woronicz, no poet bet-
ter appreciated them than he did.
The feeling of national pride was the chief theme of
his lyrics, but their tenor is sad and the intrinsic con-
struction of his songs is solemn. He paid but little
attention to their smoothness, correctness, and finish.
Bold and manly conceptions are so molded as to
purposely give them the form of perpetuity.
In his " Hymn to God " the bard sings of the won-
derful goodness of God to the Polish nation. We see
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? 118 POETS AND POETKY OF POLAND.
here as if an apotheosis of the whole people was ex-
alted to the highest and almost gigantic extent. Sub-
lime poetic art flows into a deeply affecting and re-
ligious strain; the load of grief is raised heavenward,
where buoyant imagination takes its flight into the
highest regions of sublimity; for it represents the
whole nation chanting the covenant made with God for
a thousand years.
His "Temple of the Sybil" is an epopee, a hymn
of Poland's glory, sung in praise of national deeds and
patriotic remembrances; heroic deeds of valor are un-
earthed from the ruins of the past -- of nine hundred
years -- its glories and its trophies are the historical
themes of this great poetic creation. The style of ex-
pression, the ardor, and the extraordinary boldness of
imagery are the characteristics of the poem. Similar
literary qualities characterize also his "Lech," "The
Diet of Wis? lica," and "The Dissertation on National
Songs. "
Woronicz was born in 1759, in the province of Vol-
hynia, and was educated at the Jesuit College in Os-
trowo. He joined the order when quite young.
On account of his unusual talents he was called to a
professorship at that college, and filled his duties so
well that he received commendations of not only his
superiors, but also thanks of those whom he taught.
After the abolition of the order in 1773 he obtained
a situation at the Mission at Warsaw, and giving him-
self up to arduous labors he became so erudite in learn-
ing that he commanded the respect of the most dis-
tinguished and learned heads of the church. Adam
Ceciszewski, the bishop of Kijow, as also of Garnysz,
the bishop of Che? mno, frequently consulted with him
in regard to church affairs. In this way the young
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? WORONICZ. 119
chaplain paved his way to the acquaintance of the king,
Stanislaus Augustus. In 1795 he left Warsaw, and was
satisfied with the modest parsonage at Liwo, and with
much ardor gave himself up to the duties of a country
pastor. From Liwo he was assigned to the curacy of Casi-
mir, in the neighborhood of Pu? awy, where the sight
of "The Temple of the Sybil" filled with so many
national souvenirs and relics furnished him the materi-
als for composing the celebrated poem of that name.
The society of "Friends of the Sciences" at Warsaw
made him a member. Being again assigned to a new
curacy at Powsinie, near Warsaw, and before he had yet
settled at his new parish, Frederick August called him
to fill the office of a dean at the cathedral at Warsaw,
and a counsellor of state. In this new situation he
soon was known as an orator of great distinction.
When the remains of the heroic Prince Poniatowski,
who perished at the battle of Leipsic, in 1813, were
brought to Warsaw, Woronicz delivered a funeral ora-
tion which stands up to this day as the highest effort of
the kind. Afterward the Emperor Alexander I made
him bishop of Cracow. In the year 1829 he was as-
signed to the archdiocese of Warsaw, to which was at-
tached the dignity of the Primate, and while holding
that high office he presided and conducted the corona-
tion of Nicholas I as the King of Poland. Soon after
Woronicz left Warsaw for Vienna in order to recover
his failing health, but unhappily soon after his arrival
there he died, December 4, 1829.
A collection of his poems was published in Cracow
1832, and in Leipsic in two volumes in 1833.
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? 120 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
FROM THE TEMPLE OF THE SYBIL. *
Oracle of Hesperian lands ! fame crowns thy brow
Of vast and sacred groves, all-powerful abbess thou!
To whilom lost and scattered Trojan bands, once more
Hast shown the welcome headland of safe fortified shore.
Later, with wonderful mysteries hast led apace
To glory grand and great their ever-conquering race.
Now having forsaken Cumsean rock renowned
Thou hast on Vistula's shores a shining temple found !
Let me in? my song praise of thy new abode proclaim,
And praise of the people long extinct -- and of their name !
Here shepherds gather from all the heaths by winding ways,
Remind one of the olden, happy, vanished days,
That he possessed the name of fortunate, whose soul
Could not the whole world govern, but could himself control,
Who faithful as a friend, and as a father kind and wise
Wiped full many bitter tears from sorrowing eyes--
His riches counted he in sheaves and in herds alone --
But far more than these the wealth of love was all his own.
His nature serenely high was also gently bland
And worthy of the virtuous Amarylla's hand,
With whom in affection and peace for aye lived he,
In concord sweet unruffled by adversity.
Craved he no other's goods -- but wholly was content,
His old age was adorned by love and honors blent,
And when called to his last resting place, calmly slept --
Regretted by all in truth -- by all sincerely wept. f
* Temple of the Sybil. A lofty building in the garden of Pu? awy,
erected in imitation of the Temple of Tiburtine Sybil on the river
Teverone, in Italy, by Princess Isabella Czartoryiska, as a depository
of Polish national souvenirs by a cove of the river Vistula, and at the
base of a mountain among beautiful trees. It bears an inscription :
" The Past of the Future. "
f Prince Adam Czartoryiski. The family of Czartoryiski comes
from the lineal of a royal family of Gedymines.
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