I shall not vanish wholly,—No! but young forever
My spirit will live on, within my lyre will ring,
And men within this world shall hold me in remembrance
While yet one Singer lives to sing.
My glory shall in future fly through distant Russia,
Each race in its own tongue shall name me far and wide,
The Slav, the Finn, the Kalmyk, all shall know me—
The Tungoose in his reindeer hide.
Among my people I shall be long loved and cherished,
Because their noblest instincts I have e'er inflamed,
In evil hours I lit their hearts with fires of freedom,
And never for their pleasures blamed.
O Muse, pursue the calling of thy Gods forever!
Strive not for the garland, nor look upon the pain—
Unmoved support the voice of scorn or of laudation,
And argument with Fools disdain!
PUSHKIN.
The Alexander column, standing before the Winter Palace at St. Petersburg, is a monolith eighty feet high; with the pedestal measuring one hundred and fifty feet.
TAMARA
Where waves of the Terek are waltzing
In Dariel's wickedest pass,
There rises from bleakest of storm crags
An ancient grey towering mass.
In this tower by mad winds assaulted,
Sat ever Tamara, the Queen—
A heavenly angel of beauty,
With a spirit of hell's own demesne.
Through the mist of the night her gold fires
Gleamed down through the valley below,
A welcome they threw to the pilgrim,
In their streaming and beckoning glow.