The Bakchesarian Fountain and Other Poems | Page 5

glory, love, and gold,

Again thy ever flowery shores
Soon, Salgir! joyful shall behold;

The bard shall wind thy rocky ways
Filled with fond sympathies,
shall view
Tauride's bright skies and waves of blue
With greedy
and enraptured gaze.
Enchanting region! full of life
Thy hills, thy
woods, thy leaping streams,
Ambered and rubied vines, all rife


With pleasure, spot of fairy dreams!
Valleys of verdure, fruits, and
flowers,
Cool waterfalls and 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!