Winter Morning

IV. 164.

Frost and sun--the day is wondrous!

Thou still art slumbering, charming friend.

'Tis time, O Beauty, to awaken:

Ope thine eyes, now in sweetness closed,

To meet the Northern Dawn of Morning

Thyself a north-star do thou appear!

Last night, remember, the storm scolded,

And darkness floated in the clouded sky;

Like a yellow, clouded spot

Thro' the clouds the moon was gleaming,--

And melancholy thou wert sitting--

But now ... thro' the window cast a look:

Stretched beneath the heavens blue

Carpet-like magnificent,

In the sun the snow is sparkling;

Dark alone is the wood transparent,

And thro' the hoar gleams green the fir,

And under the ice the rivulet sparkles.

Entire is lighted with diamond splendor

Thy chamber ... with merry crackle

The wood is crackling in the oven.

To meditation invites the sofa.

But know you? In the sleigh not order why

The brownish mare to harness?

Over the morning snow we gliding

Trust we shall, my friend, ourselves

To the speed of impatient steed;

Visit we shall the fields forsaken,

The woods, dense but recently,

And the banks so dear to me.

1829.

WINTER EVENING.

IV. 166.

The storm the sky with darkness covers,

The snowy whirlings twisting;

Like a beast wild now is howling,

Like an infant now is crying;

Over the aged roof now sudden

In the straw it rustling is;

Like a traveller now belated

For entrance at our window knocking.

With melancholy and with darkness

Our little, aged hut is filled

Why in silence then thou sittest

By the window, wife old mine?

Or by the howling storms art

Wearied thou, O companion mine?

Or perchance art slumbering,

By the rustling spindle soothed?

Let us drink, O kindly friend

Of my poverty and youth,

Away with grief,--where is the cup?

Joy it shall bring to our heart.

A song now sing me, how the bird

Beyond the sea in quiet lived;

A song now sing me, how the maiden

In the morning for water went.

The storm the sky with darkness covers,

The snowy whirlings twisting;

Like a beast wild now is howling,

Like an infant now is crying.

Let us drink, O kindly friend

Of my poverty and youth,

Away with grief,--where is the cup

Joy it shall bring to our heart!

1826.

THE WINTER-ROAD.

IV. 161.

Breaking thro' the waving fogs

Forth the moon is coming,

And on the gloomy acres

She gloomy light is shedding.

Along the wintry, cheerless road

Flies the rapid troika

The little bell monotonous

Wearily is tinkling.

A certain homefulness is heard

In the driver's lengthy lays:

Now light-hearted carelessness,

Now low-spirited sadness.

Neither light, nor a dark hut ...

Only snow and silence....

Striped mileposts are alone

The travellers who meet us.

Sad I feel and weary.... On the morrow, Nina,

To my beloved I returning

Forget myself shall by the fire

And scarce eno' at her shall gaze.

Loudly of my watch the spring

Its measured circle is completing

And us the parter of the wearied,

Midnight, not shall separate.

Sad I'm, Nina; my journey's weary;

Slumbering now, my driver is quiet

The little bell is monotonous

And darkened now is the moon's face.

1826.

Poems of Love.

THE STORM-[MAID].

IV. 146.

Hast thou seen on the rock the maid,

In robe of white above the waves,

When seething in the storm dark

Played the sea with its shores,--

When the glare of lightning hourly

With rosy glimmer her lighted up,

And the wind beating and flapping

Struggled with her flying robe?

Beautiful's the sea in the storm dark,

Glorious is the sky even without its blue

But trust me: on the rock the maid

Excels both wave, and sky, and storm.

1825.

THE BARD.

III. 43.

Have ye heard in the woods the nightly voice

Of the bard of love, of the bard of his grief?

When the fields in the morning hour were still,

The flute's sad sound and simple

Have ye heard?

Have ye met in the desert darkness of the forest

The bard of love, the bard of his grief?

Was it a track of tears, was it a smile,

Or a quiet glance filled with melancholy,

Have ye met?

Have ye sighed, listening to the calm voice

Of the bard of love, of the bard of grief?

When in the woods the youth ye saw

And met the glance of his dulled eyes,

Have ye sighed?

1816.

SPANISH LOVE-SONG.

IV. 136.

Evening Zephyr

Waves the ether.

Murmurs,

Rushes

The Guadalquivir.

Now the golden moon has risen,

Quiet,... Tshoo ... guitar's now heard....

Now the Spanish girl young

O'er the balcony has leaned.

Evening Zephyr

Waves the ether.

Murmurs,

Rushes

The Guadalquivir.

Drop thy mantle, angel gentle,

And appear as fair as day!

Thro' the iron balustrade

Put thy wondrous tender foot!

Evening Zephyr

Waves the ether.

Murmurs,

Rushes

The Guadalquivir.

1824.

[LOVE.]

IV. 152.

Bitterly groaning, jealous maid the youth was scolding;

He, on her shoulder leaning, suddenly was in slumber lost.

Silent forthwith is the maid; his light sleep now fondles she

Now she smiles upon him, and is shedding gentle tears.

1835.

[JEALOUSY.]

IV. 85.

Damp day's light is quenched: damp night's darkness

Stretches over the sky its leaden garment.

Like a ghost, from behind the pine wood

Foggy moon has risen....

All brings upon my soul darkness grievous.

Far, far away rises the shining moon,

There the earth is filled with evening warmth

There the sea moveth with luxuriant wave

Under the heavens blue....

Now is the time. On the hillside now she walks

To the shore washed by noisy waves.

There, under the billowed cliffs

Alone she sits now melancholy....

Alone ... none before her weeping, grieves not,

Her knees none kisses in ecstasy.

Alone ... to lips of none she is yielding

Her shoulders, nor moist lips, nor snow-white fingers.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

None is worthy of her heavenly love.

Is it not so? Thou art alone.... Thou weepest....

And I at peace? . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

But if . . . . . . .

1823.

IN AN ALBUM.

IV. 99.

The name of me, what is it to thee

Die it shall like the grievous sound

Of wave, playing on distant shore,

As sound of night in forest dark.

Upon the sheet of memory

Its traces dead leave it shall

Inscriptions-like of grave-yard

In some foreign tongue.

What is in it? Long ago forgotten

In tumultuous waves and fresh

To thy soul not give it shall

Pure memories and tender.

But on sad days, in calmness

Do pronounce it sadly;

Say then: I do remember thee--

On earth one heart is where yet I live!

1829.

THE AWAKING.

III. 42.

Ye dreams, ye dreams,

Where is your sweetness?

Where thou, where thou

O joy of night?

Disappeared has it,

The joyous dream;

And solitary

In darkness deep

I awaken.

Round my bed

Is silent night.

At once are cooled,

At once are fled,

All in a crowd

The dreams of Love--

Still with longing

The soul is filled

And grasps of sleep

The memory.

O Love, O Love,

O hear my prayer:

Again send me

Those visions thine,

And on the morrow

Raptured anew

Let me die

Without awaking!

1816.

ELEGY.

III. 39.

Happy who to himself confess

His passion dares without terror;

Happy who in fate uncertain

By modest hope is fondled;

Happy who by foggy moonbeams

Is led to midnight joyful

And with faithful key who gently

The door unlocks of his beloved.

But for me in sad my life

No joy there is of secret pleasure;

Hope's early flower faded is,

By struggle withered is life's flower.

Youth away flies melancholy,

And droop with me life's roses;

But by Love tho' long forgot,

Forget Love's tears I cannot.

1816.

[FIRST LOVE.]

I. 112.

Not at once our youth is faded,

Not at once our joys forsake us,

And happiness we unexpected

Yet embrace shall more than once;

But ye, impressions never-dying

Of newly trepidating Love,

And thou, first flame of Intoxication,--

Not flying back are coming ye!

ELEGY.

III. 99.

Hushed I soon shall be. But if on sorrow's day

My songs to me with pensive play replied;

But if the youths to me, in silence listening

At my love's long torture were marvelling;

But if thou thyself, to tenderness yielding

Repeated in quiet my melancholy verses

And didst love my heart's passionate language;

But if I am loved:--grant then, O dearest friend,

That my beautiful beloved's coveted name

Breathe life into my lyre's farewell.

When for aye embraced I am by sleep of Death,

Over my urn do with tenderness pronounce:

"By me he loved was, to me he owed

Of his love and song his last inspiration."

1821.

THE BURNT LETTER.

IV. 87.

Good-bye, love-letter, good-bye! 'T is her command....

How long I waited, how long my hand

To the fire my joys to yield was loath! ...

But eno', the hour has come: burn, letter of my love!

I am ready: listens more my soul to nought.

Now the greedy flame thy sheets shall lick ...

A minute! ... they crackle, they blaze ... a light smoke

Curls and is lost with prayer mine.

Now the finger's faithful imprint losing

Burns the melted wax.... O Heavens!

Done it is! curled in are the dark sheets;

Upon their ashes light the lines adored

Are gleaming.... My breast is heavy. Ashes dear,

In my sorrowful lot but poor consolation,

Remain for aye with me on my weary breast....

1825.

[SING NOT, BEAUTY.]

IV. 135.

Sing not, Beauty, in my presence,

Of Transcaucasia sad the songs,

Of distant shore, another life,

The memory to me they bring.

Alas, alas, remind they do,

These cruel strains of thine,

Of steppes, and night, and of the moon

And of distant, poor maid's features.

The vision loved, tender, fated,

Forget can I, when thee I see

But when thou singest, then before me

Up again it rises.

Sing not, Beauty, in my presence

Of Transcaucasia sad the songs,

Of distant shore, another life

The memory to me they bring.

1828.

SIGNS.

IV. 125.

To thee I rode: living dreams then

Behind me winding in playful crowd;

My sportive trot my shoulder over

The moon upon my right was chasing.

From thee I rode: other dreams now....

My loving soul now sad was,

And the moon at left my side

Companion mine now sad was.

To dreaming thus in quiet ever

Singers we are given over;

Marks thus of superstition

Soul's feeling with are in accord!

1829.

A PRESENTIMENT.

IV. 97.

The clouds again are o'er me,

Have gathered in the stillness;

Again me with misfortune

Envious fate now threatens.

Will I keep my defiance?

Will I bring against her

The firmness and patience

Of my youthful pride?

Wearied by a stormy life

I await the storm fretless

Perhaps once more safe again

A harbor shall I find....

But I feel the parting nigh,

Unavoidable, fearful hour,

To press thy hand for the last time

I haste to thee, my angel.

Angel gentle, angel calm,

Gently tell me: fare thee well.

Be thou grieved: thy tender gaze

Either drop or to me raise.

The memory of thee now shall

To my soul replace

The strength, the pride and the hope,

The daring of my former days!

1828.

[IN VAIN, DEAR FRIEND.]

III. 221.

In vain, dear friend, to conceal I tried

The turmoil cold of my grieving soul;

Now me thou knowest; goes by the intoxication.

And no longer thee I love....

Vanished for aye the bewitching hours,

The beautiful time has passed,

Youthful desires extinguished are

And lifeless hope is in my heart....

[LOVE'S DEBT.]

IV. 101.

For the shores of thy distant home

Thou hast forsaken the foreign land;

In a memorable, sad hour

I before thee cried long.

Tho' cold my hands were growing

Thee back to hold they tried;

And begged of thee my parting groan

The gnawing weariness not to break.

But from my bitter kisses thou

Thy lips away hast torn;

From the land of exile dreary

Calling me to another land.

Thou saidst: on the day of meeting

Beneath a sky forever blue

Olives' shade beneath, love's kisses

Again, my friend, we shall unite.

But where, alas! the vaults of sky

Shining are with glimmer blue,

Where 'neath the rocks the waters slumber--

With last sleep art sleeping thou.

And beauty thine and sufferings

In the urnal grave have disappeared--

But the kiss of meeting is also gone....

But still I wait: thou art my debtor! ...

INVOCATION.

III. 146.

Oh, if true it is that by night

When resting are the living

And from the sky the rays of moon

Along the stones of church-yard glide;

O, if true it is that emptied then

Are the quiet graves,

I call thy shade, I wait my Lila

Come hither, come hither, my friend, to me!

Appear, O shade of my beloved

As thou before our parting wert:

Pale, cold, like a wintry day

Disfigured by thy struggle of death,

Come like unto a distant star,

Or like a fearful apparition,

'T is all the same: Come hither, come hither

And I call thee, not in order

To reproach him whose wickedness

My friend hath slain.

Nor to fathom the grave's mysteries,

Nor because at times I'm worn

With gnawing doubt ... but I sadly

Wish to say that still I love thee,

That wholly thine I am: hither come, O hither!

1828.

ELEGY.

IV. 100.

The extinguished joy of crazy years

On me rests heavy, like dull debauch.

But of by-gone days the grief, like wine

In my soul the older, the stronger 't grows.

Dark my path. Toil and pain promised are me

By the Future's roughened sea.

But not Death, O friends, I wish!

But Life I wish: to think and suffer;

Well I know, for me are joys in store

'Mid struggles, toils, and sorrows:

Yet 'gain at times shall harmony drink in

And tears I'll shed over Fancy's fruit,--

Yet mayhap at my saddened sunset

Love will beam with farewell and smile.

1830.

SORROW.

III. 69.

Ask not why with sad reflection

'Mid gayety I oft am darkened,

Why ever cheerless eyes I raise,

Why sweet life's dream not dear to me is;

Ask not why with frigid soul

I joyous love no longer crave,

And longer none I call dear:

Who once has loved, not again can love;

Who bliss has known, ne'er again shall know;

For one brief moment to us 't is given:

Of youth, of joy, of tenderness

Is left alone the sadness.

1817.

DESPAIR.

III. 41.

Dear my friend, we are now parted,

My soul's asleep; I grieve in silence.

Gleams the day behind the mountain blue,

Or rises the night with moon autumnal,--

Still thee I seek, my far off friend,

Thee alone remember I everywhere,

Thee alone in restless sleep I see.

Pauses my mind, unwittingly thee I call;

Listens mine ear, then thy voice I hear.

And thou my lyre, my despair dost share,

Of sick my soul companion thou!

Hollow is and sad the sound of thy string,

Grief's sound alone hast not forgot....

Faithful lyre, with me grieve thou!

Let thine easy note and careless

Sing of love mine and despair,

And while listening to thy singing

May thoughtfully the maidens sigh!

1816.

A WISH.

III. 38.

Slowly my days are dragging

And in my faded heart each moment doubles

All the sorrows of hopeless love

And heavy craze upsets me.

But I am silent. Heard not is my murmur.

Tears I shed ... they are my consolation;

My soul in sorrow steeped

Finds enjoyment bitter in them.

O flee, life's dream, thee not regret I!

In darkness vanish, empty vision!

Dear to me is of love my pain,

Let me die, but let me die still loving!

1816.

[RESIGNED LOVE.]

IV. 99.

Thee I loved; not yet love perhaps is

In my heart entirely quenched

But trouble let it thee no more;

Thee to grieve with nought I wish.

Silent, hopeless thee I loved,

By fear tormented, now by jealousy;

So sincere my love, so tender,

May God the like thee grant from another.

[LOVE AND FREEDOM.]

III. 157.

Child of Nature and simple,

Thus to sing was wont I

Sweet the dream of freedom--

With tenderness my breast it filled.

But thee I see, thee I hear--

And now? Weak become I.

With freedom lost forever

With all my heart I bondage prize.

[NOT AT ALL.]

IV. 118.

I thought forgotten has the heart

Of suffering the easy art;

Not again can be, said I

Not again what once has been.

Of Love the sorrows gone were,

Now calm were my airy dreams....

But behold! again they tremble

Beauty's mighty power before!...

[INSPIRING LOVE.]

IV. 117.

The moment wondrous I remember

Thou before me didst appear

Like a flashing apparition,

Like a spirit of beauty pure.

'Mid sorrows of hopeless grief,

'Mid tumults of noiseful bustle,

Rang long to me thy tender voice,

Came dreams to me of thy lovely features.

Went by the years. The storm's rebellious rush

The former dreams had scattered

And I forgot thy tender voice,

I forgot thy heavenly features.

In the desert, in prison's darkness,

Quietly my days were dragging;

No reverence, nor inspiration,

Nor tears, nor life, nor love.

But at last awakes my soul:

And again didst thou appear:

Like a flashing apparition,

Like a spirit of beauty pure.

And enraptured beats my heart,

And risen are for it again

Both reverence, and inspiration

And life, and tears, and love.

1825.

[THE GRACES.]

III. 160.

Till now no faith I had in Graces:

Seemed strange to me their triple sight;

Thee I see, and with faith am filled

Adoring now in one the three!

Poems: miscellaneous.