Slavonia
I.
Near Moskva's stream, through heath and forest gliding,
Deep in a river-vale, by meadow green,
Embowered in beech, a lonely church is seen,
Like timid fawn in dewy thicket hiding.
Above its roof, a Grecian crosslet, shining,
Points to the pious serf his heavenward way;
Around it spreads, bestrewn with blossoms gay,
The field, where wearied hearts are safe reclining.
O'er swelling graves, the bounding rabbit plays;
All breathes of peace and gentleness around;
Light steals the maiden by; subdued each sound;
Even fainter glances there the evening blaze.
There, nestling side by side, at twilight's close,
Soft coo the billing doves, and then repose.
II.
Inspiring Spirit! thou art everywhere.
The forest and the desert; ocean's breast;
The ice-peak, where the condor builds his nest;
The plain; the hill; the vale; — thou still art there.
'T is not alone on Zion's holy height,
Nor on Parnassus, thou hast reared thy shrine:
Thy kindling voice and energy divine
Are felt in realms of old Cimmerian night.
By Volga's princely stream, thy fiery car
Uplifts the gifted soul, that owns thy sway,
Aloft, above the gilded dome of Tzar; —
O'er boundless steppes and dusky wilds away,
O'er castled hill, where reigns the proud Boyar,
Free, amid slaves, he mounts to meet thy day.
III.
" What is that descending yonder mountain?
Waves the Aga's crimson flag afar?
Comes the Turkish wolf to wage us war?
Or does shepherd lead his flock to fountain?
" Yonder see the wedding-banner flying, —
Garlands waving in the maiden's hair; —
O, how tall and slender, fresh and fair! "
So the long expectant train is crying.
Give this happy day aloose to joy;
Glad the heart with instrument and song;
Flit, with maiden dear, in dance along;
Let not care nor thought your bliss annoy!
Under slavery's chain the bosom swells; —
There, the fount of gentle feeling wells.
IV.
Still Spring returns, and scatters wide its roses;
The nightingale in leafy thicket sings,
And heavenward mounts the lark on quivering wings;
In flowery pomp the silent plain reposes.
Nature is still the same, unchanging ever;
She brings her gifts with each returning year,
And lavish pours her horn of plenty here,
By castled hill and silver-sheeted river.
Still lordly Dnieper rolls as wild and free,
As when the Polish banner graced its shore; —
That banner waves along its banks no more;
Through isles as green it seeks the Pontic sea.
Nature is ever free! — Why should the brave
And noble heart of Poland sink, — a slave!
V.
By Muldava trips a rose-lipped maiden, —
She has crowned her hat with summer flowers;
Fresh and dewy as the fabled Hours,
There she trips along, with blossoms laden.
How the valley with her voice is ringing,
Like the evening songster's, soft and clear!
In her happy eye a sparkling tear:
She a simple Cheskian lay is singing.
O, how strong the love of country glows
In the peasant's heart, when all is gone,
King and state, his language left alone,
Blooming still, as over graves the rose.
From his bosom pours the stream of song,
Full, in artless melody, along.
Near Moskva's stream, through heath and forest gliding,
Deep in a river-vale, by meadow green,
Embowered in beech, a lonely church is seen,
Like timid fawn in dewy thicket hiding.
Above its roof, a Grecian crosslet, shining,
Points to the pious serf his heavenward way;
Around it spreads, bestrewn with blossoms gay,
The field, where wearied hearts are safe reclining.
O'er swelling graves, the bounding rabbit plays;
All breathes of peace and gentleness around;
Light steals the maiden by; subdued each sound;
Even fainter glances there the evening blaze.
There, nestling side by side, at twilight's close,
Soft coo the billing doves, and then repose.
II.
Inspiring Spirit! thou art everywhere.
The forest and the desert; ocean's breast;
The ice-peak, where the condor builds his nest;
The plain; the hill; the vale; — thou still art there.
'T is not alone on Zion's holy height,
Nor on Parnassus, thou hast reared thy shrine:
Thy kindling voice and energy divine
Are felt in realms of old Cimmerian night.
By Volga's princely stream, thy fiery car
Uplifts the gifted soul, that owns thy sway,
Aloft, above the gilded dome of Tzar; —
O'er boundless steppes and dusky wilds away,
O'er castled hill, where reigns the proud Boyar,
Free, amid slaves, he mounts to meet thy day.
III.
" What is that descending yonder mountain?
Waves the Aga's crimson flag afar?
Comes the Turkish wolf to wage us war?
Or does shepherd lead his flock to fountain?
" Yonder see the wedding-banner flying, —
Garlands waving in the maiden's hair; —
O, how tall and slender, fresh and fair! "
So the long expectant train is crying.
Give this happy day aloose to joy;
Glad the heart with instrument and song;
Flit, with maiden dear, in dance along;
Let not care nor thought your bliss annoy!
Under slavery's chain the bosom swells; —
There, the fount of gentle feeling wells.
IV.
Still Spring returns, and scatters wide its roses;
The nightingale in leafy thicket sings,
And heavenward mounts the lark on quivering wings;
In flowery pomp the silent plain reposes.
Nature is still the same, unchanging ever;
She brings her gifts with each returning year,
And lavish pours her horn of plenty here,
By castled hill and silver-sheeted river.
Still lordly Dnieper rolls as wild and free,
As when the Polish banner graced its shore; —
That banner waves along its banks no more;
Through isles as green it seeks the Pontic sea.
Nature is ever free! — Why should the brave
And noble heart of Poland sink, — a slave!
V.
By Muldava trips a rose-lipped maiden, —
She has crowned her hat with summer flowers;
Fresh and dewy as the fabled Hours,
There she trips along, with blossoms laden.
How the valley with her voice is ringing,
Like the evening songster's, soft and clear!
In her happy eye a sparkling tear:
She a simple Cheskian lay is singing.
O, how strong the love of country glows
In the peasant's heart, when all is gone,
King and state, his language left alone,
Blooming still, as over graves the rose.
From his bosom pours the stream of song,
Full, in artless melody, along.
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