My heart thy temple evermore!
Thy face,—the altar's Godhead sign!
Not heaven's grace,—thy smiles, restore,
Grant absolution, joy divine!
LERMONTOFF.
TO A.C.S.
Afar—I fain, so much would tell thee!
List to thee o'er and o'er when near;
Yet passioned glances thou dost silence—
My words bind to my lips in fear.
How, by mere homely speaking, can I
E'en hope to captivate thine ears?
I swear it would be food for laughter—
If it were not more fit for tears!
LERMONTOFF.
A SONG
Dry leaf trembling on the branches
Before the blast,
Poor heart quaking in the bosom
For woe thou hast;
Ah what matter if the wind then,
Withered leaf from blooming linden
Should scatter wide?
Would for this the twig or branches
Have wailing sighed?
And should the lad his fate upbraid,
Although he ignominious fade—
And in an alien country die?
Will for him the beauteous maid
Complaining cry?
LERMONTOFF.
FROM "DÉMON"
Sailless and without a rudder,
On the ocean of the air—
Float the choirs of stars harmonious,
'Mid the mists eternal there;
Fleecy flocks of clouds elusive
Drift across immensity,
Leaving ne'er a track behind them,
Following their destiny.
Hour of parting, hour of meeting
They know not,—nor grief, nor rest—
Theirs no longing for the future,
Theirs no sorrow for the past.
By thy day of anguish broken,
Think of them and calm thy woe—
Be indifferent as they are
To the pangs of earth below!