No More Learning

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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But from my life all sunshine has withdrawn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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? WORONICZ. 121
LOVE AND VIRTUE.
He that can feel within his heart true love
Is virtuous already -- or such will prove.
THE POLES.
Poles ! my dear brethren your high laws are all the same --
Virtue is your element and valor is your name!
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? ARCHBISHOP KRASICKI.
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? KKAS1CKI. 123
KRASICKI.
Ignatz Krasicki, the celebrated archbishop and
poet, is an acknowledged representative of his period.
He was not one of those geniuses who have their mind's
eye fixed upon their own greatness and glory in the
distant future; on the contrary he was a true citizen,
endeavoring in the happiest possible manner to lift up,
not himself, but his fellow-countrymen and the age he
lived in. If even Mother Nature had not fitted him
with that facility and pleasant ways, his own good heart
would have led him to seek the way to conquer super-
stition, bad taste, and especially the carelessness and
indifference to learning. He appeared on the stage
exactly in the right time, when sciences in Poland had
not yet assumed a definable shape, and of course had
not reached the point of desired amplification. The
spirit of philosophy of the eighteenth century, with its
erroneous teachings, was in the ascendant; but Krasicki
overcame that difficulty by boldly yet pleasantly point-
ing out a different and a better way. Although he
himself had been brought up under its baneful influ-
ences, he was able by his writing to gradually reinstate
the old-time customs, faith, and maimers of his
ancestors.
Krasicki occupied a high place in Polish literature.
He was very witty, and although he did not display
great creative powers in his comic composition, he had
a way of his own to sing with the harmony of a bird,
adding to it a precision and a consummate finish. Being
an excellent judge of the human heart, he had a happy
faculty of seeing men and things exactly as they were;
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? 124, POETS AND POETKY OF POLAND.
hence lie was pertinent and practical. He was an
excellent delineator of the faults and foibles of the
living pictures of society.
Among the poetical works of Krasicki his satires
are entitled to the first place and consideration; except
their pungency they have no real bitterness in them,
and always a tendency to correct the existing state of
things. In them he paints in a humorous manner the
customs, ways, and manners so precisely that such a
description was something very uncommon in those
days. While castigating the ways and manners he
invariably brought up an ideal how they should be. If
he ridiculed anything funny, sluggish, or what deserved
reprimand, he at the same time set forth types worthy
of imitation. By such course he plainly proved that
whoever undertakes to point out others' faults he must
love them.
His satires are of two different kinds -- some touch
the weaknesses and defects of the humanity at large,
as for instance "Malice, Hidden and Open," "The
Happiness of Rogues," and "Drunkenness "; in others
again he points out the national shortcomings, as in
"The Fashionable Wife," "The Journey," "Prodi-
gality," "Praise of Age," and "Court Life. " Some,
however, contain irony and sarcasm, as " The Spoiled
World.
"
His " Monachomachia, or the War of the Monks,"
was written when he and Voltaire lived together at the
Palace of Sans-Souci. It was a happy occurrence that
when Krasicki embraced Voltaire's philosophical ideas
he did not reach as deeply as Voltaire himself. Having
been born in the southern part of Pussia-Poland he
was by nature true to himself, and did not possess that
virulence of character. Being himself an Ecclesiastic,
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? KRASICKI. 125
he knew the defects and digressions of the clergy, and
inliicced his castigations accordingly. In this produc-
tion lie distinguishes himself in pleasant but harmless
wit, nice imagery, accuracy, and grace of expression.
Throwing the mantle of fun, and even ludicrousness,
over high thoughts, the author exerted great power and
influence in that direction. When it was ascertained
that his intent was misunderstood and misconstrued,
and looked upon as a lampoon on the clergy, and that
many minds were vitiated thereat, Krasicki composed
'? Antimonachomachia '' -- sort of a revocation of the
former poem; but 4i Monachomachia " had neverthe-
less the desired effect in correcting the existing evils.
The subject of the poem was the confederation of the
clergy against the author of the offensive literary
production.
? ? Myszeis " is a playful poem containing within it a
hidden moral and satirical comparisons in regard to
national defects. This contention for the preeminence,
or we should say " Who shall be greatest? " between
rats and mice, means probably the old political wrangles
in Poland, -- misunderstandings or quarrels between
the Senate and the Chivalry of those days.
Besides the satirical writings of Krasicki we can
place his Letters, -- ? the subject matter and the style of
which very much approach his satires. These, being
written in verse after French models, palpably remind
us of the haste and defects of the literature of that
period.
In his "Doswiadczyn? ski" (the man of experience),
a moral tale written in prose, Krasicki paints the social
defects of that time. Thoughtlessness, prodigality,
litigation, bribery, the law intrigues, court eloquence,
are pictured in vivid colors. This jocular but highly
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? 126 POETS AND POETRY OF " POLAND.
interesting production hits somebody or something
every time, and shows in the author an uncommon
talent and discrimination of how and where to casti-
gate national blemishes.
From all of Krasicki's writings his Fables were
perhaps the most popular; they all contain truths,
expressed with great conciseness and wit, comprising
at the same time deep meaning, sound practical philos-
ophy, replete with the spirit of reflection, humanity,
and frequently patriotism. They are all short, prac-
tical tales, allegories, or witty anecdotes. "The War
of Chocim" Krasicki composed to show that a good
epopee could be written in the Polish language.
His " Pan Podstoli " * we consider a valuable
depository, and it stands as a living monument of
Polish ancestry. In this work Krasicki rises higher
in philosophical tendency than any painters of char-
acters or novel-writers have ever led us. In the
representation of Mr. Podstoli he did not follow any
especial ideal, or the originality of any person; he
simply and plainly painted a characteristic portrait of
a citizen, husband, father, and neighbor, who in the
fullness of his own and his family's happiness con-
quers old impediments and defends himself from the
new ones; prizing knowledge, liberal in his household,
generous in his frugality, an indulgent moralist, glad
in the goodness of his heart, sincere in his moderation,
and awakening in every heart a longing desire for hap-
piness similar to his own.
Krasicki is the man of his epoch, not only of the
age he lived in, but for all ages to come, so long as we
will think, feel, and write in Polish. Krasicki had
* Tinder-carver -- An honorary title among the ancient Polish
nobility.
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? KRASICKI. 127
within him every quality to raise him to so high a
sphere. He possessed immense creative powers, an
original mind, and original ways of looking at things, --
qualities which in reality constitute a true poet. He
created a sphere to which he attracted the people
without any resistance on their part, -- so much so that
his poetry became a necessary element in their
existence.
The great archbishop stands on the borders of the
eighteenth and nineteenth centuries; but the creation
and preparation of a boundless poetical sphere, and
bringing a general use of his ideas into different
strata of society, make him a poet not only of his age,
but also of the present time.
Krasicki was born in 173tfc at Dubiecko, now in the
southern part of Eussia-Poland. After finishing his
studies at Lemberg he resided at Eome. Eeturning to
his country he became a canon, and then a curate at
Przemys? l. When hardly thirty years old he presided
over the Ecclesiastical Tribunal at Lublin, and it was
not long after that the king, Stanislaus Augustus, made
him coadjutor of the old bishop, Grochowski, and
when he died in 1767 Krasicki succeeded him as the
Bishop of Warmia, with the title of a prince. In 1772,
after the first partition of Poland, when Warmia, with
the western part of Prussia, came under the reign of
Prussia, Krasicki became a vassal to Frederick II, who
having a sort of penchant to surround himself with
learned men took him to his side and invited him to
reside in his palace of Sans-Souci. When, after the last
partition of Poland, a considerable part of the king-
dom of Poland came under the Prussian dominion,
Krasicki was made the archbishop of Gniezno, in 1795,
and occupied that high place till his death. In 1800
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? 128 POETS AKD POETRY OF POLAND.
he was made a member of the Society of the Friends
of Learning at Warsaw. He died in 1801.
All his works were published at Warsaw in 1803 and
1804, in ten volumes; in Paris, 1830, ten volumes in
one; in Leipsic, 1834. Besides his encyclopaedic col-
lection of the most important information, alphabet-
ically arranged, his comedies u The Liar," "The Poli-
tician, " and " Solenizant" (the solemnizerof his birth-
day) were published under a pseudonym of Michael
Mowin? ski.
THE WAR OF CHOCIM.
Canto I.
Long in the murderous rolls of conquering fame
The Osmanlis, -- scourge of God, -- in proud success,
Had triumph'd. Devastation, blood and flame
They scatter'd in their fury, merciless.
Unsated even by slaughter they became
Prouder in power, -- encouraged to oppress;
Half the wide world had recognized their sway,
And their stern scepter bade the rest obey.
Fall'n Greece! on thy majestic ruins, high
The haughty Moslem rears his tyrant throne;
How many desolated nations lie
In dust ! -- how many suffering kingdoms groan !
Towns, towers in ashes sink ; by his stern eye
Dismay'd, their terror trembling millions own,
Shuddering in dread, when with half-stifled breath
They see him wave the scimitar of death.
Before him fell the holy city's walls.
Thy daughters, Zion! wept in slavery long;
Whelm 'd in the dust thy palaces and halls.
No more Mount Calvary's sacred scenes among
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? KRASICKI. 129
Kneel pious pilgrims; -- drear desertion palls
The Savior's sacred tomb; an impious throng
Insulting trampled where to fallen man
Salvation's marvelous mystery began.
The valiant Osman then the throne possess'd, --
Osman, whose conquests like the ocean spread;
To daring deeds adventurously he press'd,
And joy'd his sire's ambitious path to tread.
His busy love of conquest found no rest,
But in devoting every Christian head.
Impious! to deem a tyrant's peevish rod
Could raze or blast what has been raised by God.
Such thoughts he cherishes; the powers of Hell
Fan his ambitious flame: before his eyes
They bid fresh wreaths of shadowy laurels dwell --
A filmy web; though victory's heedless cries
Ring in his ears like music, sorrow's swell
Seems joy, while in his soul stern thoughts arise.
'Twas thus deluded warrior bands became
A scourge to nations, -- to the world a shame.
So from the palace happy quiet flies, --
The seat of peace is in the shelter'd cot;
When cares disturb the mind, sleep shuns the eyes, --
Sleep, not the monarch's, but the peasant's lot:
Though on a couch of down proud Osman lies,
Repose his weary eye-lids visits not.
'Twas dawn, -- the star of morn palely shed
Her beams, when o'er him slumbers faintly spread.
The great Arch-fiend approach'd him, -- he of old
Hurl'd down from highest heaven, -- who bids abound
On earth both guilt and guile. A cloth of gold,
From distant India brought, encurtain'd 'round
9
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? 130 POETS AND POETEY OF POLAND.
The tyrant's bed: -- in form of human mould
The daemon wrapp'd him; and with human sound,
While the false prophet's visible shape he took,
Thus to the deeply-slumbering monarch spoke :
"Nay! on a soft and an effeminate bed,
This is no fitting time, my son ! to taste
Oblivious sleep. Aurora blushing red
Heralds the morn; the pale stars sink to rest;
The sun uprises bright: -- Awake! and lead
Those conquering bands who wait thy high behest:
Awake! and let thy great example tell,
Sloth cannot in the minds of heroes dwell.
" Awake ! let them behold in thee whate'er
Befits a conquering nation's monarch ; scorn
Of sloth; delight the steely mail to wear;
A wakeful eye anticipating morn: --
Thine arm'd host waits thee, nought is wanting there
To valor, but a leader; fierce they burn
For the wild joy of battle: -- thus of yore
Their sires won fame; and lo! they pant for more.
" By glory led, whose brightly beaming light
Shines all propitious by the hero's side,
Each step is certain conquest; to the fight
A hero leading heroes; terror's tide
Shall whelm the Christians; and thy power shall blight
Each bud of hope for them; thy falchion dyed
With blood shall on the Faithful joy bestow, --
That sword which flashes death upon the foe. "
As when the savage boar outstretch'd in sleep,
In his dark covert hidden, hears the horn
Of the sharp hunter, and from slumbers deep
Awakes in bursting wrath, and rage, and scorn, --
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? KRASICKI. 131
Bristled and panting see the monster leap
Forth from his den; foaming and fury-torn
He dashes tow'rds the sounds, -- so Osman sprung,
While round his dreaming eyes the vision hung.
And fierce and fatal were the threats which call'd
His troops around him then; the battle cloud
Spread darkly gathering. Armies were enthrall'd;
Viziers and Agas at the mandates loud,
And seldom-check'd Pachas, by fear appall'd,
Brought their attendant hordes, and meekly bow'd;
While scarce one welcoming, one approving glance
Escaped the frowning despot's countenance.
He stood among them like a pyramid
O'er-darkling with its shade the plain around,
And thus unveil'd his daring purpose, -- hid
Till then ; while at the valor-stirring sound,
Prostration mute, and eager rapture bid
Meet utterance : -- " Thou, the Koran's moat and mound,
Stretch out thy blade; thy foes shall pass away.
And prostrate earth adore the Prophet's sway.
11 Nobly thou hast begun, and so proceed !
Let thy sword herald on the law divine; --
Destroy the impugners of the Prophet's creed,
But on the faithful let thy favor shine.
Thy glory shall encircle earth ; the meed
Of pious triumphs, -- thou shalt raise a shrine
To victory. And as Rome was victory's queen,
Stamboul shall now become what Rome has been. "
Skinder Pacha was there, -- 'twas he who won
Cecora's bloody day, -- and thus he gave
His monarch humble counsel: " Thy proud throne
Towers above all thrones, and thus thy slave
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? 132 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Presumes t' advise. Since Poland's bravest son
Sleeps mouldering in his melancholy grave,
Be Poland thy first spoil: for Poland lies
Crouch 'd at thy feet, -- and at thy frown she dies.
" Z? o? ? kiewski was their chief: his fame in war
Was mighty: toils and time had made him gray:
His band look'd proudly on their country's star;
His countless band ; and in the glimmering ray
Of faded recollections twinkling far
Sought hope ! Thou gav'st them to us as a prey, --
Thou, Prophet! whom they dared blaspheme. They fell,
As ever falls the insulting infidel.
" And now dismay has crowded on defeat,
And terror holds them in its heavy chains;
Send forth thy mandate, and they shall retreat,
O'erpower'd and scatter'd, as across the plains
An atom in a whirlwind. It were meet
To whelm in dust their wasted, weak remains, --
Their wives, their children, slavery's bonds await, --
All yield to fate, -- and they must yield to fate.
" They have despised thee in their insolent pride ;
They have rebell'd against thy sovereign will ;
Laugh'd at thy awful frowns ; and turn'd aside
Prom thy bright smiles: and undespairing still,
Their obstinate zeal supports them. Chiefs divide,
And factions tear them; yet by force or skill
They hang together: and these stubborn foes
The only barrier to thy sway oppose. "
Thus the fierce Skinder spoke: their lord's behest
Anxious the whole divan awaited. He
The wild, rude anger of his eye suppress'd;
While bursting joy, dim dreams of victory,
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? KRASICKI. 133
And restless passions struggled in his breast.
He bow'd assent : and with proud dignity
Threw round him a dark glance of light afar.
And utter'd, " War, my warriors! nought but war! "
He said that he himself his troops would head,
And lead them on to triumph. At the word
A murmuring concert-tone of gladness spread,
And loud eulogiums on their valiant lord ;
For armies when by hero-monarchs led,
Know no defeat. A sultan's self-drawn sword
Flashes with victory. A chieftain brave
Makes all his followers spurn the gaping grave.
Then to the camp vast crowds of warriors throng,
From every quarter summon'd. Shouts of joy
And the gay music of the battle-song
Bid the heart leap, and light the ebon eye.
There young and old, children and sires, among
The gathering band are mix'd tumultuously;
And many an oath is heard, and many a vow
To Allah and the Prophet utter'd now.
And o'er the palace portal high unroll'd,
The Prophet's banner, deck'd with pearls and gems,
Floated. It was a sheet of broiderd gold,
Sparkling with jewels fit for diadems,
Which dazzle when their brightness we behold:
And the sublimest of all apothegms:
" There is no god but God, -- and Mahomet
His Prophet is. " on the bright field was set.
And proudly to the wind its folds it flung,
And million voices blended all around;
The clashing cymbals high aloft were flung.
The spahts shouts, and the strange babel-sound
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