Rhymes from the Russian

by Unknown

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One wave upon another leaps,

And splashes, murmuring loud;

So men on men, in rolling heaps,

Press on—a worthless crowd.

The waves prefer their cold free-will

To warmth the noonday gave;

Souls men desire to have, yet still

They’re colder than the wave.

BALLAD.
THE QUEEN OF THE SEA.

The young Prince is swimming his steed in the sea;

He heareth a voice: “Oh, Prince, look upon me!”

Loud snorteth the steed as he pricks up his ears;

He splashes the foam as he plunges and rears.

Again hears the Prince: “A king’s daughter I be;

Art thou willing to pass the whole evening with me?”

Behold, from the water a white hand extends,

And catches the reins by their silk tassel-ends.

To the white hand a young face there quickly succeeds;

In her locks are entangled the twisted seaweeds.

Her blue eyes are gleaming with love’s wild delight;

On her bosom the foam-drops like pearls sparkle bright.

Then thinketh the Prince, “You must stay, lady fair;”

And adroitly he windeth his hand in her hair.

He has caught her. The hand of the warrior’s strong;

She weeps and she prays as they struggle along.

The Prince to the shore swimmeth on in his pride;

He lands, and loud calls he his friends to his side.

“Ho! come, my brave comrades, and look at my prey.

Behold how she struggles! She’ll ne’er get away.

“Why stand ye a terrified group on the shore?

Ye have ne’er seen a beauty like this one before.”

Back glanceth the Prince, with delight, on his prize;

But the proud look of triumph soon fades from his eyes.

With a shudder he sees on the golden sand trail

A fearsome sea-monster, with hideous green tail—

A tail covered over with scales like a snake,

Its quivering coils in death-agony shake.

The foam from her forehead is pouring in streams,

And the darkness of death from her closing eye gleams;

Her pale hands are clutching the sands of the sea,

And of purport unknown a reproach whispers she.

Afar rides the Prince—deep in thought rideth he;

For long years he’ll remember “the Queen of the Sea.”

THE PROPHET.

Since the Eternal Judge to me

The Prophets’ power of vision lent,

In human eyes I read, and see

Pages of vice and folly blent.

To preach of love when I began,

Teaching of truth and purity,

My neighbours all, like devils, ran

And took up stones to throw at me.

Upon my head I ashes cast,

And from the towns, a beggar, fled;

And now I dwell in deserts vast,

Just like the birds, by God’s hand fed.

Keeping the laws of Providence,

The brute creation serveth me;

The stars hear me with confidence,

With bright rays playing joyously.

When through the noisy city’s way

I hurry onwards, in distraction,

The old men to the children say,

With smile of selfish satisfaction—

“Behold, from him a warning take!

He was too proud with us to dwell;

The fool! That God through his lips spake—

This was the tale he strove to tell.

“Look, children! on him cast your eyes!

How sad he is! how thin and pallid!

How naked, and how poor and squalid!

How all the wretched man despise!”

WHEN—THEN.

When waves of shadow fret the yellowing fields;

When freshly hum the woods to Zephyr’s play;

When on the garden walls the reddening plums,

Hiding themselves, in leafy ambush sway;

When freshly washed in heavy-scented dews

(While evening red or golden morning glows),

From ’neath the hedge to me, with welcoming bows,

Her silver head the waving lily shows;

When sports the snow-cold runlet down the dale,

Plunging my restless thoughts in pensive dreams,

Whispering to me some deep mysterious tale

Of that reposeful source from whence it streams;—

Then in my soul calm peace succeeds alarm,

Upon my brow dissolves the furrowed frown;

On earth I catch of happiness the charm;

From heaven I see the Godhead looking down.

MY NATIVE LAND.

I love my land, but with a love so strange

That reason over it no victory knows.

Her glory, bought in bloodshed’s stern exchange,

Her ever-confident and proud repose,

The sacred annals of her ancient might,

Arouse in me no fancies of delight.

Nay! but I love (the why I cannot say)

Her cold steppes in their silent majesty,

Her waving woodlands in their boundless play,

Her flooded rivers spreading like the sea.

I love to drive adown her country lanes,

With longing glance piercing the shades of night,

Sighing for rest, to catch thro’ distant panes

The glimmering of some mournful village light.

I love to see the smoke of smouldering stalk;

To watch the waggons o’er the wide waste wend;

Or, on hillside, ’mid yellowing fields, to mark

The pair of birch trees their white arms extend.

With a delight, unknown except to few,

Love I to note the well-filled threshing-floor,

The peasant’s hut, half hidden in the straw,

The shutters with quaint carvings covered o’er;

And with no less delight, on holiday,

From dewy eve till noon of night, to gaze

Upon the dance, with stamp and whistling gay,

Amid the roar the merry rustics raise.

TO ——.

We stand apart, yet still thy pictured face

I fondly press to this sad heart of mine—

A vision pale, of happiest years a trace,

My soul rejoices in this gift of thine.

For, though to passions new I’m now resigned,

That once-loved face I cannot cease to love;

The shrine forsaken still retains the shrined;

O’erthrown the image, yet God reigns above.

THE DAGGER.

Well do I love thee, my dagger of steel,

My comrade so bright and so cold!

Thou wast forged in hate by a Georgian fell,

For the fierce fight edged by Circassian bold.

Thee to me as a gift did a lily hand bear

In the moment of sad farewell;

For that once no blood, but a glittering tear,

A pearl of passion, adown thee fell.

Fixed upon mine, her dark black eyes

Full of mysterious sorrow seemed;

As plays thy blade when flickering flames arise,

Darkling they gloomed, and then they brightly gleamed.

Dumb pledge of love to cheer my cheerless way,

To wanderer lone a useful guide,

My strength of soul I never shall betray,

But true like thee, true steel, will I abide!