The Bakchesarian Fountain and Other Poems | Page 8

the dread decree
Of retribution on thee brings,

Eternity will swallow thee,
Thy motion stop, and clip thy wings!
SONG.
Sweetly came the morning light,
When fair Mary blest my sight,
In
her presence pleasures throng,
Louder swelled the birds their song,

Pleasanter the day became.
Not so radiant are Sol's rays,
When on darkest clouds they blaze,
As
her look, so free from guile,
As fair Mary's tender smile,
As the smile of my beloved.
Not of dew the gems divine
Shine as Mary's beauties shine,
Not
with hers the rose's dye
On the fairest cheek can vie,
None have beauty like to hers.
Mary's kiss as honey sweet,
Pure as streamlet clear and fleet,
Love
inhabits her soft eyes,
Floats in all her soothing sighs,
Nought on earth so sweet as she.
Let us, Mary, now enjoy
Nature's charms without alloy,
Verdant
lawn, and smiling grove;--
Brooks that babble but of love
Will beside us softer flow.
Let us seek the pleasant shade,
Sit in bowers by us arrayed
With
gay flow'rets, where are heard
Songs of many a pleasant bird,
Which with rapture we will join.
In that sweet and lovely spot,
All the cares of earth forgot,
Thou,
the comfort of my sight,
Thou, my glory, my delight,
Shalt my soul to peace allure.
SONG.
The 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