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 Another Random Document on
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 .. .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . .
None is worthy of her heavenly love.
Is it not so? Thou art alone . . . . Thou
weepest . . . .
And I at peace? . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
But if . . . . . . .
1823.

IN AN ALBUM.

IV. 99.

The name of me, what is it to thee

Die it shall like the grievous sound
Of wave, playing on distant shore,
As sound of night in forest dark.

Upon the sheet of memory

Its traces dead leave it shall
Inscriptions-like of grave-yard
In some foreign tongue.
What is in it? Long ago forgotten
In tumultuous waves and fresh
To thy soul not give it shall
Pure memories and tender.

But on sad days, in calmness

Do pronounce it sadly;
Say then: I do remember thee—
On earth one heart is where yet I live!

1829.

THE AWAKING.

III. 42.

Ye dreams, ye dreams,
Where is your sweetness?
Where thou, where thou
O joy of night?
Disappeared has it,
The joyous dream;
And solitary
In darkness deep
I awaken.
Round my bed
Is silent night.
At once are cooled,
At once are fled,
All in a crowd
The dreams of Love—
Still with longing
The soul is filled
And grasps of sleep
The memory.
O Love, O Love,
O hear my prayer:
Again send me
Those visions thine,
And on the morrow
Raptured anew
Let me die
Without awaking!

1816.

ELEGY.

III. 39.

Happy who to himself confess

His passion dares without terror;
Happy who in fate uncertain
By modest hope is fondled;
Happy who by foggy moonbeams
Is led to midnight joyful
And with faithful key who gently
The door unlocks of his beloved.

But for me in sad my life

No joy there is of secret pleasure;
Hope's early flower faded is,
By struggle withered is life's flower.
Youth away flies melancholy,
And droop with me life's roses;
But by Love tho' long forgot,
Forget Love's tears I cannot.

1816.

[FIRST LOVE.]

I. 112.

Not at once our youth is faded,

Not at once our joys forsake us,
And happiness we unexpected
Yet embrace shall more than once;
But ye, impressions never-dying
Of newly trepidating Love,
And thou, first flame of Intoxication,—
Not flying back are coming ye!

ELEGY.

III. 99.

Hushed I soon shall be. But if on sorrow's day

My songs to me with pensive play replied;
But if the youths to me, in silence listening
At my love's long torture were marvelling;
But if thou thyself, to tenderness yielding
Repeated in quiet my melancholy verses
And didst love my heart's passionate language;
But if I am loved:—grant then, O dearest friend,
That my beautiful beloved's coveted name
Breathe life into my lyre's farewell.
When for aye embraced I am by sleep of Death,
Over my urn do with tenderness pronounce:
"By me he loved was, to me he owed
Of his love and song his last inspiration."

1821.

THE BURNT LETTER.

IV. 87.

Good-bye, love-letter, good-bye! 'T is her command....

How long I waited, how long my hand
To the fire my joys to yield was loath! ...
But eno', the hour has come: burn, letter of my love!
I am ready: listens more my soul to nought.
Now the greedy flame thy sheets shall lick ...
A minute! ... they crackle, they blaze ... a light smoke
Curls and is lost with prayer mine.
Now the finger's faithful imprint losing
Burns the melted wax.... O Heavens!
Done it is! curled in are the dark sheets;
Upon their ashes light the lines adored
Are gleaming.... My breast is heavy. Ashes dear,
In my sorrowful lot but poor consolation,
Remain for aye with me on my weary breast....
1825.

[SING NOT, BEAUTY.]

IV. 135.

Sing not, Beauty, in my presence,

Of Transcaucasia sad the songs,
Of distant shore, another life,
The memory to me they bring.

Alas, alas, remind they do,

These cruel strains of thine,
Of steppes, and night, and of the moon
And of distant, poor maid's features.

The vision loved, tender, fated,

Forget can I, when thee I see
But when thou singest, then before me
Up again it rises.

Sing not, Beauty, in my presence

Of Transcaucasia sad the songs,
Of distant shore, another life
The memory to me they bring.

1828.

SIGNS.
IV. 125.

To thee I rode: living dreams then

Behind me winding in playful crowd;
My sportive trot my shoulder over
The moon upon my right was chasing.

From thee I rode: other dreams now....

My loving soul now sad was,
And the moon at left my side
Companion mine now sad was.

To dreaming thus in quiet ever

Singers we are given over;
Marks thus of superstition
Soul's feeling with are in accord!

1829.

A PRESENTIMENT.

IV. 97.

The clouds again are o'er me,

Have gathered in the stillness;
Again me with misfortune
Envious fate now threatens.
Will I keep my defiance?
Will I bring against her
The firmness and patience
Of my youthful pride?

Wearied by a stormy life

I await the storm fretless
Perhaps once more safe again
A harbor shall I find....
But I feel the parting nigh,
Unavoidable, fearful hour,
To press thy hand for the last time
I haste to thee, my angel.

Angel gentle, angel calm,

Gently tell me: fare thee well.
Be thou grieved: thy tender gaze
Either drop or to me raise.
The memory of thee now shall
To my soul replace
The strength, the pride and the hope,
The daring of my former days!

1828.

[IN VAIN, DEAR FRIEND.]

III. 221.

In vain, dear friend, to conceal I tried

The turmoil cold of my grieving soul;
Now me thou knowest; goes by the intoxication.
And no longer thee I love....
Vanished for aye the bewitching hours,
The beautiful time has passed,
Youthful desires extinguished are
And lifeless hope is in my heart....

[LOVE'S DEBT.]

IV. 101.

For the shores of thy distant home

Thou hast forsaken the foreign land;
In a memorable, sad hour
I before thee cried long.
Tho' cold my hands were growing
Thee back to hold they tried;
And begged of thee my parting groan
The gnawing weariness not to break.

But from my bitter kisses thou

Thy lips away hast torn;
From the land of exile dreary
Calling me to another land.
Thou saidst: on the day of meeting
Beneath a sky forever blue
Olives' shade beneath, love's kisses
Again, my friend, we shall unite.

But where, alas! the vaults of sky

Shining are with glimmer blue,
Where 'neath the rocks the waters slumber—
With last sleep art sleeping thou.
And beauty thine and sufferings
In the urnal grave have disappeared—
But the kiss of meeting is also gone....
But still I wait: thou art my debtor! ...

INVOCATION.

III. 146.

Oh, if true it is that by night

When resting are the living
And from the sky the rays of moon
Along the stones of church-yard glide;
O, if true it is that emptied then
Are the quiet graves,
I call thy shade, I wait my Lila
Come hither, come hither, my friend, to me!

Appear, O shade of my beloved

As thou before our parting wert:
Pale, cold, like a wintry day
Disfigured by thy struggle of death,
Come like unto a distant star,
Or like a fearful apparition,
'T is all the same: Come hither, come hither

And I call thee, not in order

To reproach him whose wickedness
My friend hath slain.
Nor to fathom the grave's mysteries,
Nor because at times I'm worn
With gnawing doubt ... but I sadly
Wish to say that still I love thee,
That wholly thine I am: hither come, O hither!
1828.

ELEGY.

IV. 100.

The extinguished joy of crazy years

On me rests heavy, like dull debauch.
But of by-gone days the grief, like wine
In my soul the older, the stronger 't grows.
Dark my path. Toil and pain promised are me
By the Future's roughened sea.

But not Death, O friends, I wish!

But Life I wish: to think and suffer;
Well I know, for me are joys in store
'Mid struggles, toils, and sorrows:
Yet 'gain at times shall harmony drink in
And tears I'll shed over Fancy's fruit,—
Yet mayhap at my saddened sunset
Love will beam with farewell and smile.

1830.

SORROW.

III. 69.
Ask not why with sad reflection
'Mid gayety I oft am darkened,
Why ever cheerless eyes I raise,
Why sweet life's dream not dear to me is;
Ask not why with frigid soul
I joyous love no longer crave,
And longer none I call dear:
Who once has loved, not again can love;
Who bliss has known, ne'er again shall know;
For one brief moment to us 't is given:
Of youth, of joy, of tenderness
Is left alone the sadness.

1817.

DESPAIR.

III. 41.

Dear my friend, we are now parted,

My soul's asleep; I grieve in silence.
Gleams the day behind the mountain blue,
Or rises the night with moon autumnal,—
Still thee I seek, my far off friend,
Thee alone remember I everywhere,
Thee alone in restless sleep I see.
Pauses my mind, unwittingly thee I call;
Listens mine ear, then thy voice I hear.

And thou my lyre, my despair dost share,

Of sick my soul companion thou!
Hollow is and sad the sound of thy string,
Grief's sound alone hast not forgot....
Faithful lyre, with me grieve thou!
Let thine easy note and careless
Sing of love mine and despair,
And while listening to thy singing
May thoughtfully the maidens sigh!

1816.

A WISH.

III. 38.

Slowly my days are dragging

And in my faded heart each moment doubles
All the sorrows of hopeless love
And heavy craze upsets me.
But I am silent. Heard not is my murmur.
Tears I shed ... they are my consolation;
My soul in sorrow steeped
Finds enjoyment bitter in them.
O flee, life's dream, thee not regret I!
In darkness vanish, empty vision!
Dear to me is of love my pain,
Let me die, but let me die still loving!

1816.

[RESIGNED LOVE.]
IV. 99.

Thee I loved; not yet love perhaps is

In my heart entirely quenched
But trouble let it thee no more;
Thee to grieve with nought I wish.
Silent, hopeless thee I loved,
By fear tormented, now by jealousy;
So sincere my love, so tender,
May God the like thee grant from another.

[LOVE AND FREEDOM.]

III. 157.

Child of Nature and simple,

Thus to sing was wont I
Sweet the dream of freedom—
With tenderness my breast it filled.

But thee I see, thee I hear—

And now? Weak become I.
With freedom lost forever
With all my heart I bondage prize.

[NOT AT ALL.]
IV. 118.

I thought forgotten has the heart

Of suffering the easy art;
Not again can be, said I
Not again what once has been.

Of Love the sorrows gone were,

Now calm were my airy dreams....
But behold! again they tremble
Beauty's mighty power before!...

[INSPIRING LOVE.]

IV. 117.

The moment wondrous I remember

Thou before me didst appear
Like a flashing apparition,
Like a spirit of beauty pure.

'Mid sorrows of hopeless grief,

'Mid tumults of noiseful bustle,
Rang long to me thy tender voice,
Came dreams to me of thy lovely features.

Went by the years. The storm's rebellious rush

The former dreams had scattered
And I forgot thy tender voice,
I forgot thy heavenly features.
In the desert, in prison's darkness,
Quietly my days were dragging;
No reverence, nor inspiration,
Nor tears, nor life, nor love.

But at last awakes my soul:

And again didst thou appear:
Like a flashing apparition,
Like a spirit of beauty pure.

And enraptured beats my heart,

And risen are for it again
Both reverence, and inspiration
And life, and tears, and love.

1825.

[THE GRACES.]

III. 160.

Till now no faith I had in Graces:

Seemed strange to me their triple sight;
Thee I see, and with faith am filled
Adoring now in one the three!

Poems: miscellaneous.
THE BIRDLET.

IV. 133.

In exile I sacredly observe

The custom of my fatherland:
I freedom to a birdlet give
On Spring's holiday serene.
And now I too have consolation:
Wherefore murmur against my God
When at least to one living being
I could of freedom make a gift?

1823.

THE NIGHTINGALE.

IV. 145.

In silent gardens, in the spring, in the darkness of the night

Sings above the rose from the east the nightingale;
But dear rose neither feeling has, nor listens it,
But under its lover's hymn waveth it and slumbers.

Dost thou not sing thus to beauty cold?

Reflect, O bard, whither art thou striding?
She neither listens, nor the bard she feels.
Thou gazest? Bloom she does; thou callest?—
Answer none she gives!
1827.

THE FLOWERET.

IV. 95.

A floweret, withered, odorless

In a book forgot I find;
And already strange reflection
Cometh into my mind.

Bloomed, where? when? In what spring?

And how long ago? And plucked by whom?
Was it by a strange hand? Was it by a dear hand?
And wherefore left thus here?

Was it in memory of a tender meeting?

Was it in memory of a fated parting?
Was it in memory of a lonely walk?
In the peaceful fields or in the shady woods?

Lives he still? Lives she still?

And where their nook this very day?
Or are they too withered
Like unto this unknown floweret?

1828.
THE HORSE.

IV. 271.

Why dost thou neigh, O spirited steed,

Why thy neck so low,
Why thy mane unshaken
Why thy bit not gnawed?
Do I then not fondle thee?
Thy grain to eat art thou not free?
Is not thy harness ornamented,
Is not thy rein of silk,
Is not thy shoe of silver,
Thy stirrup not of gold?

The steed in sorrow answer gives:

Hence am I quiet
Because the distant tramp I hear,
The trumpet's blow and the arrow's whizz
And hence I neigh, since in the field
No longer feed I shall,
Nor in beauty live and fondling,
Neither shine with harness bright.

For soon the stern enemy

My harness whole shall take
And the shoes of silver
Tear he shall from feet mine light.
Hence it is that grieves my spirit:
That in place of my chaprak
With thy skin shall cover he
My perspiring sides.

1833.
TO A BABE.

IV. 144.

Child, I dare not over thee

Pronounce a blessing;
Thou art of consolation a quiet angel
May then happy be thy lot....

THE POET.

(IV. 2).

Ere the poet summoned is

To Apollo's holy sacrifice
In the world's empty cares
Engrossed is half-hearted he.

His holy lyre silent is

And cold sleep his soul locks in;
And of the world's puny children,
Of all puniest perhaps is he.

Yet no sooner the heavenly word

His keen ear hath reached,
Than up trembles the singer's soul
Like unto an awakened eagle.
The world's pastimes him now weary
And mortals' gossip now he shuns
To the feet of popular idol
His lofty head bends not he.

Wild and stern, rushes he,

Of tumult full and sound,
To the shores of desert wave,
Into the widely-whispering wood.

1827.

TO THE POET.

SONNET.

(IV. 9).

Poet, not popular applause shalt thou prize!

Of raptured praise shall pass the momentary noise;
The fool's judgment hear thou shalt, and the cold mob's
laughter—
Calm stand, and firm be, and—sober!

Thou art king: live alone. On the free road

Walk, whither draws thee thy spirit free:
Ever the fruits of beloved thoughts ripening,
Never reward for noble deeds demanding.

In thyself reward seek. Thine own highest court thou art;

Severest judge, thine own works canst measure.
Art thou content, O fastidious craftsman?
Content? Then let the mob scold,
And spit upon the altar, where blazes thy fire.
Thy tripod in childlike playfulness let it shake.

THE THREE SPRINGS.

IV. 134.

In the world's desert, sombre and shoreless

Mysteriously three springs have broken thro':
Of youth the spring, a boisterous spring and rapid;
It boils, it runs, it sparkles, and it murmurs.
The Castalian Spring, with wave of inspiration
In the world's deserts its exiles waters;
The last spring—the cold spring of forgetfulness,
Of all sweetest, quench it does the heart's fire.

1827.

THE TASK.

IV. 151.

The longed-for moment here is. Ended is my long-yeared

task.
Why then sadness strange me troubles secretly?
My task done, like needless hireling am I to stand,
My wage in hand, to other task a stranger?
Or my task regret I, of night companion silent mine,
Gold Aurora's friend, the friend of my sacred household gods?

1830.

SLEEPLESSNESS.

IV. 101.

I cannot sleep, I have no light;

Darkness 'bout me, and sleep is slow;
The beat monotonous alone
Near me of the clock is heard.
Of the Fates the womanish babble,
Of sleeping night the trembling,
Of life the mice-like running-about,—
Why disturbing me art thou?
What art thou, O tedious whisper?
The reproaches, or the murmur
Of the day by me misspent?
What from me wilt thou have?
Art thou calling or prophesying?
Thee I wish to understand,
Thy tongue obscure I study now.

1830.

[QUESTIONINGS.]
IV. 98.

Useless gift, accidental gift,

Life, why given art thou me?
Or, why by fate mysterious
To torture art thou doomed?

Who with hostile power me

Out has called from the nought?
Who my soul with passion thrilled,
Who my spirit with doubt has filled?...

Goal before me there is none,

My heart is hollow, vain my mind
And with sadness wearies me
Noisy life's monotony.

1828.

[CONSOLATION.]

IV. 142.

Life,—does it disappoint thee?

Grieve not, nor be angry thou!
In days of sorrow gentle be:
Come shall, believe, the joyful day.

In the future lives the heart:

Is the present sad indeed?
'T is but a moment, all will pass;
Once in the past, it shall be dear.
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