The Bakchesarian Fountain and Other Poems | Page 8

shades of spring's delicious even?Invited all to soft repose,?I only sighed to listening heaven?In the still grove my bosom's woes.
My heart's distress had Fate completed,?Snatched from my sight my best beloved,?And echo's busy voice repeated?Sweet Mary's name where'er I roved.
Without her sad the days and dreary,?How cheerless drag life's moments on,?Of pleasure's tumults sick and weary,?All blissful thoughts for ever flown!
But still to me more keen the anguish,?With secret grief my heart must swell,?That her for whom I ceaseless languish?I dare not of my passion tell.
No hope my cruel pain disarming,?I live a prey to ceaseless wo,?And Mary, sweet, and fair, and charming,?How much I love her does not know.
How shall I calm this bosom's raging??O! how alleviate its smart??Her tender look, all grief assuaging,?Alone can cure my wounded heart.
SONG.
How blest am I thy charms enfolding,?Cheerful thy smile as May's fair light,?As Paradise thine eyes are bright,?I all forget when thee beholding,--?Thou canst not think how sweet thou art.?Thy absence fills my soul with anguish,?Beloved one! hopeless of relief?I count the mournful hours in grief,?My heart for thee doth ceaseless languish,--?Thou canst not think how sweet thou art!
TO MARY.
Vainly, Mary, dost thou pray me?Heedless of thy charms to live,?If thou'dst have me, fair, obey thee,?Thou another heart must give.
One with stern indifference steeling,?That could know thee and be free,?One that all thy virtues feeling,?Could exist removed from thee.
That in which thine image blooming,?Holds an empire all its own,?Which, though thou to grief art dooming,?Lives, fair maid, in thee alone;
Every thought to thee addresses,?Filled by thee with visions bright,?Even 'midst sorrows, pains, distresses,?Thou'rt its comfort, hope, delight.
I be faithless! love avowing,?To thee first I bent my knee,?Even with soul thy looks endowing,?First I knew it_ knowing _thee.
Yes, my soul to thee returning,?Thine own gift do I restore,?Thou the offering proudly spurning,?I its charm can know no more.
Do not bid me, hope resigning,?My fond vows of love to cease,?How can I, in silence pining,?Cruel fair one, mar thy peace?
N O T E.
Of the following translation of Derjavin's Ode to God, universally esteemed as one of the sublimest effusions of the Russian Muse, I beg leave to say that my aim has been to render it into English as literally as the genius of our language would admit, without adding or suppressing a single thought, or amplifying a single expression, to accomplish which metrically would of course be impossible.
If I have succeeded, my readers will be better able to judge whether this Ode, after having been translated into the Japanese language, merited the great honour of being suspended, embroidered with gold, in the temple of Jeddo, than they can be by a perusal of the highly poetic effort of Dr. Bowring. For, whilst he has adhered to the structure of versification adopted in the original, and in some parts has given its sense with remarkable accuracy, in others he has been less fortunate; and in venturing to change the Trinitarian faith of Derjavin to suit his own notions of the unity of the Supreme Being, he has taken a liberty with his author which cannot but be deemed unwarrantable.
THE TRANSLATOR.
TO GOD.
BY DERJAVIN.
O! Thou, infinite in space,?Existing in the motion of matter,?Eternal amidst the mutations of time,?Without person, in three persons the Divinity!?The single and omnipresent spirit,?To whom there is neither place nor cause,?Whom none could ever comprehend,?Who fillest all things with thyself,?Embracest, animatest, and preservest them,?Thou whom we denominate God!
Although a sublime mind might be able?To measure the depths of ocean,?To count the sands, the rays of the planets,?To thee there is neither number nor measure!?Enlightened spirits, although?Proceeding from thy light,?Cannot penetrate thy judgments;?Thought scarce dare lift itself to thee;?It is lost in thy greatness,?Like the past moment in eternity.
Thou calledst chaos into existence,?Before time, from the abyss of eternity,?And eternity, existing prior to all ages,?Thou foundedst within thyself.?Constituting thyself of thyself,?By means of thyself shining from thyself,?Thou art the light from which light first flowed;?Creating all things by a single word,?Extending thyself throughout the new creation,?Thou wast, thou art, thou shalt be for ever!
Thou unitest within thyself the chain of beings,?Upholdest and animatest it,?Thou connectest the end with the beginning,?And through death bestowest life.?As sparks shoot forth and scatter themselves,?Thus suns are born of thee:?As, in a cold and clear winter's day,?Particles of frost scintillate,?Whirl about, reel, and glisten,[1]?Even so do the stars in the abysses beneath thee!
Millions of lighted torches?Fly throughout infinite space,?They execute thy laws,?And shed life-creating rays.?But these fiery luminaries,?Or shining masses of crystal,?Or crowds of boiling golden waves,?Or blazing ether,?Or all the dazzling worlds united--?Compared to thee are like night compared to day.
Like a drop of water cast into the ocean?Is this whole firmament compared to thee.?But what is the universe which I behold,?And who am I, in thy presence??Were I to add to the millions of worlds?Existing