Part I

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THE STORM

As my bark in the restless ocean Mounts its rough and foaming hills, Whilst its waves in dark commotion Pass me, hope my bosom fills.

Who, when warring clouds are gleaming, Quenches the destructive spark? Say what hand, what safety’s beaming, Guides through rocks my little bark?

Thou, Creator, all o’erseeing, In this scene preserv’st me dread! Thou, without whose word decreeing Not a hair falls from my head!

Thou in life hast doubly blest me, All my soul to Thee’s revealed,-- Thou amongst the great hast placed me,-- Be ’midst them my guide and shield!

--From W. D. Lewis’s _The Bakchesarian Fountain_.

THE STREAM OF TIME[165]

The stream of time, with onward sweep, Bears off men’s works, all human things, And plunges o’er Oblivion’s steep Peoples and kingdoms with their kings. If for a space amidst the swirl The lyre of trumpet some sustain, They’re swept at last in ceaseless whirl, And none escape Fate’s common main.

--From John Pollen’s _Rhymes from the Russian_.

FOOTNOTES:

[147] Alexander Ivánovich Meshchérski was the president of the St. Petersburg magistracy, and later served in the Chief Customs Chancery. Both he and his friend Perfílev, mentioned at the end of the monody, led a life of luxury.

[148] See Catherine II.’s _Prince Khlor_, p. 280.

[149] Catherine had some villages in the Government of Orenbúrg, near the settlements of the Kirgíz-Kaysák horde,--hence the name given her by Derzhávin.

[150] Tartar chiefs, but courtiers are meant here.

[151] Through the promulgation of her laws.

[152] Derzhávin was much addicted to gambling in his early life, and had even tried to mend his fortune by cheating.

[153] Catherine was not successful as a versifier.

[154] She loved neither Masons nor Martinists, who were a kind of precursors of the modern spiritualists.

[155] Name of a Masonic lodge.

[156] The reference is to Potémkin, his dreams of conquering India and Persia, his foppery, his sumptuous feasts.

[157] Characterisation of A. G. Orlóv.

[158] P. I. Pánin.

[159] Allusion to S. K. Narýshkin, who had introduced wind instruments, where each player played but one note.

[160] A game which consists of throwing a large nail into a ring.

[161] Famous popular novels much in vogue in all Europe; the latter is the English _Bevys of Hamptoun_; the allusion is here to the rude manners of Prince Vyázemski.

[162] Lentyág and Bryúzga of Catherine’s _Prince Khlor_, by whom she meant Potémkin and Vyázemski.

[163] In 1767 the Senate and deputies, who had been invited to present a project for a new code of laws, proposed a title for the Empress “Great, Most Wise, and Mother of the Country,” but she declined it.

[164] This and the following lines refer to the reign of Empress Anna, when the least inattention to the minutest details of Imperial prerogatives brought about the severest persecution: it was sufficient not to empty a beaker which was drunk to her health, or to scratch out or correct her name in a document, or to drop a coin with her picture upon it, in order to be immediately denounced to the secret police. Then follows the reference to the ice palace in which the marriage of the Court fool, Prince Golítsyn, was celebrated; the other Court fools of the day were the Princes Volkónski and Apráksin.

Yúri Aleksándrovich Neledínski-Melétski. (1752-1829.)

After finishing his education in the University of Strassburg, Neledínski occupied various posts in the army and with legations. In 1800 he was made a Senator. He distinguished himself in literature by his simple, deep-felt songs, two of which, given below, have become enormously popular. His other poems and translations from French authors are now forgotten.

Sir John Bowring has translated his “Under the oak-tree, near the rill,” “To the streamlet I’ll repair,” and “He whom misery, dark and dreary”; the latter is the same as Lewis’s “He whose soul from sorrow dreary.”

SONG

To the streamlet I’ll repair, Look upon its flight and say: “Bear, O fleeting streamlet, bear All my griefs with thine away!”

Ah, I breathe the wish in vain! In this silent solitude Counted is each throb of pain:-- Rest is melancholy’s food.

Waves with waves unceasing blend, Hurrying to their destiny: E’en so thoughts with thoughts, and tend All alike to misery.

And what grief so dark, so deep As the grief interred within, By the friend, for whom I weep, All unnoticed, all unseen?

Yet, could I subdue my pain, Soothe affection’s rankling smart, Ne’er would I resume again The lost empire of my heart.

Thou, my love, art sovereign there! There thou hast a living shrine: Let my portion be despair, If the light of bliss be thine.

Loved by thee, oh, might I live, ’Neath the darkest, stormiest sky: ’Twere a blest alternative! Grief is joy, if thou be nigh.

Every wish and every pray’r Is a tribute paid to thee: Every heart-beat--there, oh there, Thou hast mightiest sovereignty.

To thee, nameless one! to thee Still my thoughts, my passions turn; ’Tis through thee alone I see, Think, and feel, and breathe, and burn.

If the woe in which I live Ever reach thy generous ear, Pity not, but oh, forgive Thy devoted worshipper!

In some hour of careless bliss Deign my bosom’s fire to prove; Prove it with an icy kiss,-- Thou shalt know how much I love!

--From Sir John Bowring’s _Specimens of the Russian Poets_,