The Bakchesarian Fountain and Other Poems | Page 5

fragrant bowers!?All serve the traveller's heart to fill?With joy as he in hour of morn?By his accustomed steed is borne?In safety o'er dell, rock, and hill,?Whilst the rich herbage, bent with dews,?Sparkles and rustles on the ground,?As he his venturous path pursues?Where AYOUDAHGA'S crags surround!
[1] A Turkish pipe.
AMATORY AND OTHER POEMS,
BY
VARIOUS RUSSIAN AUTHORS.
[Several of the following translations were published anonymously, many years since, in the "National Gazette," when edited by Robert Walsh, Esq., and in the "Atlantic Souvenir," and other periodicals.]
AMATORY AND OTHER POEMS.
SONG.
I through gay and brilliant places?Long my wayward course had bound,?Oft had gazed on beauteous faces,?But no loved one yet had found.
Careless, onward did I saunter,?Seeking no beloved to see,?Rather dreading such encounter,?Wishing ever to be free.
Thus from all temptation fleeing,?Hoped I long unchecked to rove,?'Till the fair Louisa seeing,--?Who can see her, and not love?
Sol, his splendid robes arrayed in,?Just behind the hills was gone,?When one eve I saw the maiden?Tripping o'er the verdant lawn.
Of a strange, tumultuous feeling,?As I gazed I felt the sway,?And, with brain on fire and reeling,?Homeward quick I bent my way.
Through my bosom rapid darting,?Love 'twas plain I could not brave,?And with boasted freedom parting,?I became Louisa's slave.
THE HUSBAND'S LAMENT.
BY P. PELSKY.
Parted now, alas! for ever?From the object of my heart,?Thus by cruel fate afflicted,?Grief shall be my only part,
I, bereft of her blest presence,?Shall my life in anguish spend,?Joy a stranger to my bosom,?Wo with every thought shall blend.
Double was my meed of pleasure?When in it a share she bore,?Of my pains, though keen and piercing,?Viewing her I thought no more.
All is past! and I, unhappy,?Here on earth am left alone,?All my transports now are vanished,?Blissful hours! how swiftly flown.
Vainly friends, with kind compassion,?Me to calm my grief conjure,?Vainly strive my heart to comfort,?It the grave alone can cure.
Fate one hope allows me only,?Which allays my bosom's pain--?Death our loving hearts divided,?Death our hearts can join again!
COUNSEL.
BY DMEETRIEFF.
Youth, those moments so entrancing,?Spend in sports and pleasures gay,?Mirth and singing, love and dancing,?Like a shade thou'lt pass away!
Nature points the way before us,?Friends to her sweet voice give ear,?Form the dances, raise the chorus,?We but for an hour are here.
Think the term of mirth and pleasure?Comes no more when once gone by,?Let us prize life's only treasure,?Blest with love and jollity.
And the bard all sorrows scorning,?Who, though old, still joins your ring,?With gay wreaths of flowers adorning?Crown him that he still may sing.
Youth, those moments so entrancing,?Spend in sports and pleasures gay,?Mirth and singing, love and dancing,?Like a shade thou'lt pass away!
STANZAS.
BY NELAIDINSKY.
He whose soul from sorrow dreary,?Weak and wretched, nought can save,?Who in sadness, sick and weary,?Hopes no refuge but the grave;?On his visage Pleasure beaming,?Ne'er shall shed her placid ray,?Till kind Fate, from wo redeeming,?Leads him to his latest day.
Thou this life preservest ever,?My distress and my delight!?And, though soul and body sever,?Still I'll live a spirit bright;?In my breast the heart that's kindled?Death's dread strength can ne'er destroy,?Sure the soul with thine that's mingled?Must immortal life enjoy!
That inspired by breath from heaven?Need not shrink at mortal doom,?To thee shall my vows be given?In this world and that to come.?My fond shade shall constant trace thee,?And attend in friendly guise,?Still surround thee, still embrace thee,?Catch thy thoughts, thy looks, thy sighs.
To divine its secret pondering,?Close to clasp thy soul 'twill brave,?And if chance shall find thee wandering?Heedless near my silent grave,?Even my ashes then shall tremble,?Thy approach relume their fire,?And that stone in dust shall crumble,?Covering what can ne'er expire!
ODE TO THE WARRIORS OF THE DON.
WRITTEN IN 1812, BY N.M. SHATROFF.
Sudden o'er Moscow rolls the dread thunder,?Fierce o'er his proud borders Don's torrents flow,?High swells each bosom, glowing with vengeance
'Gainst the base foe.
Scarce in loud accents spoke our good Monarch,?"Soldiers of Russia! Moscow burns bright,?Foemen destroy her,"--hundreds of thousands
Rush to the fight.
"Who dare oppose God? who oppose Russians?"?Cried the brave Hetman,--steeds round him tramp,--?"The Frenchman's ashes quickly we'll scatter,
Show us his camp!
"TSAR true-believing we are all ready,?Thy throne's defenders, each proud heart bent?By the assault th' invader's black projects
To circumvent.
"Russians well know the rough road to glory,?Rhine's banks by our troops soon shall be trod,?We fight for vengeance, for love of country,
And faith in God!
"BELIEVE and conquer, fear not for Russia,?Awful the blow the cross-bearer strikes,?Th'arkan[1] is dreadful, the sword unsparing,
Sharp are our pikes.
"Vain are Napoleon's skill, strength, and cunning,?Nor do his hosts fill us with despair,?For Michael[2] leads us, and Mary's[3] image
With us we bear.
"To horse, brothers, haste, the foe approaches,?Holy faith guides us, in God we trust,?Quick, true believers, rush to the onset,
God aids the just!
"Sternly rush on, friends, crush the vile Frenchman,?Firm be as mountains when tempests blow,?Oh! into Russia grant not the foul one
Further to go."
Don, broad and mighty, poured forth her children,?The world was amazed, pale with affright,?Napoleon abandoned his fame, and sought
Safety in