Classic Poem

 In noisy crowds the gipsies bold
Their way through Bessarabia tramp;
To-day they pitch their camp and set
Their tattered tents by river-side.
As free as bird, they choose their haunt,
And peaceful sleep 'neath open sky.
From midst the wheels of waggon-vans,
Half-covered with thick canvas roofs,
Curls high the flame, and round the fire
Within their tent the family group
Prepare with care the evening meal.
In open field the horses graze;
Beyond the tent the tamed bear lies;
And all is gay along the steppe
With busy cares of household life,
With women's songs, and children's laugh,
And measured beat of blacksmith's stroke,
As they prepare for morrow's march.
And now, o'er all the nomad camp
Unbroken silence calmly reigns,
And naught is heard on tranquil steppe,
Save bark of hound or neighing steed.
Throughout the camp the fires are quenched,
And all is peace. The moon, sole queen
In heaven's expanse, sheds forth her rays,
And bathes the sleeping camp in light
All sleep, save one old man who sits
Before the half-extinguished fire
And warms himself with its last heat.
And oft he scans the fields remote,
Enwrapt in evening's soft, white mist
His daughter young and fair is wont
In all to have her way, and now
Has gone to stroll the lonely fields.
She will come back; but it is late,
And o'er the moon the clouds of night
Already gather thick and fast.
But no Zemphire returns: meanwhile,
The old man's modest meal grows cold.

 At last she comes, and close behind
Follows along her path a youth,
A stranger to the gipsy sire
“See, father mine”, the maiden said,
“I bring a guest; beyond the mounds
I found him lost on the wild steppe,
And refuge in our camp I offered.
He lies beneath the ban of law,
But I have sworn to be his friend;
Aleko is his name, and he,
Where'er I go, will follow me”

OLD MAN

 I welcome thee Remain the night
Beneath the shelter of our tent;
Or, if thou wilt, stay longer here,
As thou thinkst fit, for I consent
Our board and roof with thee to share.
Be one of us, and learn our fate
To bear, the fate of vagrants poor,
But free, and with the early dawn
Shalt find a place with us in van,
And prove what trade art skilled to ply:
The iron forge… or sing a song,
And show the villagers our bear.

ALEKO

 I will remain.

ZEMPHIRE .

He shall be mine:
And who shall chase him from my side?
But it grows late; the crescent moon
Has set; the fields drink in the mist;
And heavy sleep weighs down mine eyes.