Classic Poem

EPILOGUE.

 The magic charm of song divine
Brings back to life the olden days,
Writes anew on memory's page
The record of past joys and griefs
In the land where centuries long
The din of war not once was hushed;
Where Russian arms supremely marked
The lawful bounds of Stamboul's sway;
And where the mighty eagle shook
His proud, wide wings o'er triumphs won;
'Twas there, the wild steppe stretching round,
On borders of our ancient rule,
I met the gipsy waggon-vans,
The sons of freedom uncontrolled.
I long in idle whim pursued
Through barren waste and forest wild
The gay and lawless gipsy band.
Their modest, simple fare I shared,
And slept before their flaming fires.
I loved the noise of their loud songs,
And still the name of fair Marie
Haunts and startles my restless sleep.

 And yet, with you, free nature's sons,
True happiness can ne'er be found;
And humblest tents are oft the haunt
Of troubled dreams and hopes destroyed;
And nomad camps, though pitched in wilds,
From nature ravin give no shield;
There, too, will human passions rage,
And naught protect men from their fate.