Say, ev'n his serfs, half-humanized, should learn
Their human rights,-will Mars put out his flame
In Russian bosoms? no, he'll bid them burn
A thousand years for nought but martial fame,
Like Romans:-yet forgive me, Roman name!
Rome could impart what Russia never can ;
Proud civic rights to salve submission's shame.
Our strife is coming; but in freedom's van
The Polish eagle's fall is big with fate to man.
Proud bird of old! Mohammed's moon recoil'd
Before thy swoop: had we been timely bold,
That swoop, still free, had stunn'd the Russ, and foil'd
Earth's new oppressors, as it foil'd her old.
Now thy majestic eyes are shut and cold:
And colder still Polonia's children find
The sympathetic hands, that we outhold.
But, Poles, when we are gone, the world will mind,
Ye bore the brunt of fate, and bled for humankind.
So hallowedly have ye fulfill'd your part,
My pride repudiates ev'n the sigh that blends
With Poland's name-name written on my heart.
My heroes, my grief-consecrated friends!
Your sorrow, in nobility, transcends
Your conqueror's joy: his cheek may blush; but shame Can tinge not yours, though exile's tear descends; Nor would ye change your conscience, cause, and name, For his, with all his wealth, and all his felon fame.
Thee, Niemciewitz, whose song of stirring power
The Czar forbids to sound in Polish lands;
Thee, Czartoryski, in thy banish'd bower,
The patricide, who in thy palace stands,
May envy; proudly may Polonia's bands
Throw down their swords at Europe's feet in scorn,
Saying "Russia from the metal of these brands
Shall forge the fetters of your sons unborn ;
Our setting star is your misfortunes' rising morn."
ON LEAVING A SCENE IN BAVARIA.
ADIEU the woods and waters' side,
Imperial Danube's rich domain !
Adieu the grotto, wild and wide,
The rocks abrupt, and grassy plain !
For pallid Autumn once again
Hath swell'd each torrent of the hill;
Her clouds collect, her shadows sail,
And watery winds that sweep the vale
Grow loud and louder still.
But not the storm, dethroning fast
Yon monarch oak of massy pile ;
Nor river roaring to the blast
Around its dark and desert isle ;
Nor church-bell tolling to beguile
The cloud-born thunder passing by,
Can sound in discord to my soul:
Roll on, ye mighty waters, roll!
And rage, thou darkened sky!
Thy blossoms now no longer bright;
Thy wither'd woods no longer green;
Yet, Eldurn shore, with dark delight
I visit thy unlovely scene!
For many a sunset hour serene
My steps have trod thy mellow dew;
When his green light the glow-worm gave,
When Cynthia from the distant wave
Her twilight anchor drew,
And plough'd, as with a swelling sail,
The billowy clouds and starry sea;
Then while thy hermit nightingale
Sang on his fragrant apple-tree,-
Romantic, solitary, free,
The visitant of Eldurn's shore,
On such a moonlight mountain stray'd,
As echoed to the music made
By Druid harps of yore.
Around thy savage hills of oak,
Around thy waters bright and blue,
No hunter's horn the silence broke,
No dying shriek thine echo knew;
But safe, sweet Eldurn woods, to you
The wounded wild deer ever ran,
Whose myrtle bound their grassy cave,
Whose rocks a shelter gave
Oh heart effusions, that arose
From nightly wanderings cherish'd here; To him who flies from many woes, Even homeless deserts can be dear! The last and solitary cheer Of those that own no earthly home, Say-is it not, ye banish'd race, In such a loved and lonely place Companionless to roam?
Yes! I have loved thy wild abode,
Unknown, unplough'd, untrodden shore :
Where scarce the woodman finds a road,
And scarce the fisher plies an oar;
For man's neglect I love thee more;
That art nor avarice intrude
To tame thy torrent's thunder-shock,
Or prune thy vintage of the rock
Magnificently rude.
Unheeded spreads thy blossom'd bud
Its milky bosom to the bee;
Unheeded falls along the flood
Thy desolate and aged tree.
Forsaken scene, how like to thee
The fate of unbefriended Worth!
Like thine her fruit dishonour'd falls;
Like thee in solitude she calls
A thousand treasures forth.
Oh! silent spirit of the place,
If, lingering with the ruin'd year,
Thy hoary form and awful face
I yet might watch and worship here! Thy storm were music to mine ear, Thy wildest walk a shelter given Sublimer thoughts on earth to find, And share, with no unhallow'd mind, The majesty of heaven.
What though the bosom friends of Fate,
Prosperity's unweaned brood,-
Thy consolations cannot rate,
O self-dependent solitude!
Yet with a spirit unsubdued,
Though darken'd by the clouds of Care,
To worship thy congenial gloom,
A pilgrim to the Prophet's tomb
The Friendless shall repair.
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