Russian Lyrics | Page 5

pasture flings! Lifted from passion's melancholy The life breaks forth in fairer flower, The soul receives a new enrichment-- Fruition sweet and full of power. But when on later altars arid It downward sweeps, about us flows-- Love leaves behind such deathly traces As Autumn tempests where it blows To strip the woods with ruthless hand, And turn to soggy waste the land!
PUSHKIN.

FROM "ONEGIN"
How sad to me is thine appearing, O Springtime, hour of love's unrest! Within the soul what nameless languors! What passions hid within the breast! With what a heavy, heavy spirit From the earth's rustic lap I feel Again the joy of Springtide odors-- That once could make my spirit reel! No more for me such pleasures thrilling, All that rejoices, that has life, All that exults,--brings but despondence To one past passion as past strife, All is but prose to such as he, Wearied unto satiety.
Perchance we fain would pass unnoticed That which in Autumn drooped and pined, Now radiant in verdure springing, Since it must of our loss remind; As with a tortured soul we realize In Nature's glad awakening, That we shall never find renewal, Who evermore are withering. Perchance there haunts us in remembrance, Our own most dear and lyric dream, Another long forgotten Springtime-- And trembling neath this pang supreme, The heart faints for a distant country And for a night beside the sea!
PUSHKIN.

THE MEMORIAL
Beyond compare the monument I have erected, And to this spirit column well-worn the people's path,-- Its head defiant will out-soar that famous pillar The Emperor Alexander hath!
I shall not vanish wholly,--No! but young forever My spirit will live on, within my lyre will ring, And men within this world shall hold me in remembrance While yet one Singer lives to sing.
My glory shall in future fly through distant Russia, Each race in its own tongue shall name me far and wide, The Slav, the Finn, the Kalmyk, all shall know me-- The Tungoose in his reindeer hide.
Among my people I shall be long loved and cherished, Because their noblest instincts I have e'er inflamed, In evil hours I lit their hearts with fires of freedom, And never for their pleasures blamed.
O Muse, pursue the calling of thy Gods forever! Strive not for the garland, nor look upon the pain-- Unmoved support the voice of scorn or of laudation, And argument with Fools disdain!
PUSHKIN.
_The Alexander column, standing before the Winter Palace at St. Petersburg, is a monolith eighty feet high; with the pedestal measuring one hundred and fifty feet_.

TAMARA
Where waves of the Terek are waltzing In Dariel's wickedest pass, There rises from bleakest of storm crags An ancient grey towering mass.
In this tower by mad winds assaulted, Sat ever Tamara, the Queen-- A heavenly angel of beauty, With a spirit of hell's own demesne.
Through the mist of the night her gold fires Gleamed down through the valley below, A welcome they threw to the pilgrim, In their streaming and beckoning glow.
How clear rang the voice of Tamara! How amorous did it invite! The heart of the stranger enticing, Seducing with magic delight!
The warrior was snared by her singing, Nor noble, nor herd could withstand-- Then noiseless her portal was opened By eunuchs of shadowy hand.
With pearls rare adorned and strange jewels, Reposed on a billowy nest, A prey to voluptuous longing, Tamara awaited her guest.
With passioned and thrilling embracement, With straining of breast unto breast, With sighing and trembling and transport-- In lust's unrestrained, giddy zest--
So revelled 'mid desolate ruins, Of Lovers,--past counting at least! In their bridal night's wild distraction, And in truth at their own death feast.
For when from the peaks of the mountains The sun tore the night's veiling soft, There reigned anew only the silence On turret and casement aloft.
And only the Terek bewailing With fury broke in on the hush, As dashing her billows on billows Her writhing floods onward did rush.
A youth's form her currents are bearing, Ah vainly they murmur and swell! A woman, a pale and a fair one-- Cries down from her tower "Farewell!"
Her voice has the sound of faint weeping, So amorous, tender and sweet-- As if she in love's holy rapture Did promise of meeting repeat!
LERMONTOFF.
[_Tamara is the Russian Lorelei. The ruins of her castle are still shown in the pass of Darjal on the famous Georgian Road_.]

THE GIFT OF THE TEREK
Through the rocks in wildest courses Seethes the Terek grim of mood, Tempest howling its bewailing, Pearled with foam its tearful flood.
At the mountain's feet soft streaming, Gentler grown its murmurs be, And with greeting full of fawning Speaks to the Caspian Sea:
"Hospitable part thy billows, Give me room, oh Ocean grave! From a distance drawing thither-- Scarce my weary currents wave.
Born upon the edge of Kasbek, By the breast of clouds renewed, Hatred have I