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FREEDOM
Oft through my native land I roved before, But never such a cheerful spirit bore.
When on its mother's breast a child I spy-- Hope in my inmost heart doth secret cry,
"Boy, thou art born within a favoring time, Thine eyes shall glad escape old sights of crime.
Free as a child, thou can'st prove all and be The forger sole of thine own destiny.
Peasant remain,--as to thy father given-- Or like the eagle swing thyself to heaven!"
Castles in air I build! Man's spirit opes To many ways to frustrate all my hopes.
Though serfdom's sad conditions left behind, Yet there be countless snares of varied kind!--
Well! Although the people soon may rend thee, Let me, oh Freedom, a welcome send thee!
NEKRa.s.sOW.
_Written shortly after the freeing of the serfs_.
A FAREWELL
Farewell! Forget the days of trial, Of grudge, ill humor, misery-- Tempests of heart and floods of weeping, And the revengeful jealousy.
Ah, but the days whereon the sun rose To light love's wonder, and begot In us the power of aspiration,-- bless them and forget them not!
NEKRa.s.sOW.
THE LOVE LETTER
Letter of love so strangely thrilling With all your countless wonder yet, Though Time our heart's hot fires have mastered, Bringing a pang of pained regret!
The while your blest receiver holds you, His banished pa.s.sions still rebel, No longer reason sacrifices His sentiment,--so then farewell!
Destroyed be this love-token treasured!
For if 'tis read when time has flown, Deep in the buried soul 'twill waken The torment vanished days have known.
At first but a light scorn arousing For silly childishness,--at last With fiery yearning overwhelming, And jealousy for all the past.
O Thou, from whom a myriad letters Speak with the breath of love to me, Though my gaze rest on thee austerely, Yet, yet,--I cannot part with thee!
Time has revealed with bitter clearness How little thou with truth wert blessed, How like a child my own behaviour-- Yet, dear to me I still must save This flower scentless, without colour, From off my manhood's early grave!
NEKRa.s.sOW.
WHAT THE SLEEPLESS GRANDAM THINKS
All through the cold night, beating wings shadowy Sweep o'er the church-village poor,-- Only one Grandam a hundred years h.o.a.ry, Findeth her slumber no more.
Harkens, if c.o.c.ks to the dawn be not crowing, Rolls on her oven and weeps, Sees all her past rising up to confront her-- O'er her soul shameful it creeps!
"Woe to me sinner old! Woe! Once I cheated-- When from the church door I ran, And in the depths of the forest strayed hidden With my beloved Ivan.
"Woe to me! Burning in h.e.l.l's leaping fires Surely will soon be my soul!
I took a pair of eggs once at a neighbor's-- Out from her hen--yes, I stole!
"Once at the harvest at home I did linger-- Swore I was deadly sick,--when Taking my part in the drunken carousals Sat.u.r.day night with the men!
"Light was I ever with soldiers! Yet cursing G.o.d's name, when from me at last,-- My own son they took for a soldier!
Even drank cream on a fast.
"Woe to me sinner! Woe to me wretched one!
Woe! My heart broken will be!
Holy Madonna, have pity, have mercy!
Into court go not with me!"
NEKRa.s.sOW.
_The stoves of the peasants are built so that they can sleep on top of them in the extreme cold of Winter_.
TO RUSSIA
'Neath a giant tent Of the heavens blue, Stretch the verdant Steppes; Range beyond the view.
On the distant rim Lift the outlines proud, Of their mountain walls To the drifting cloud.
Through the Steppes there rolls Stream on stream to sea, Wide meandering, Straying far and free.
Do I Southward gaze-- Like the ocean there, Ripening fields of grain Wave and ripple fair.
Softest velvet sod Decks the meadow floor, In the vineyards green Swells the grape once more.
Do I Northward turn-- O'er the waste lands lone, Soft as eider down Are the snowflakes blown.
And his azure waves High the ocean lifts, On his cold blue breast Now an iceberg drifts.
And as leaping flame Burn the Northern lights, On the darkness gleam Through the silent nights.
Even so art thou, Russian realm, become,-- Thou my native land, Shield of Christendom!
