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Self defence nothing boots thee, Thy flight he will worst-- To earth he will tread thee, O Gossip be cursed!
NIKITIN.
IN A PEASANT HUT
Sultry dampness--pine chips smoking, Off-scourings a span length, In the corners webs of spiders, s.m.u.t on dish and bench.
Sooty black the bare wall, crock stained, Water--dry hard bread; Groanings, coughings, children's whimper, Wretched bitter need!
And a beggar's death for years of Harshest drudgery-- Learn to put your trust in G.o.d here, And to patient be.
NIKITIN.
WINTER NIGHT IN THE VILLAGE
O'er the church roof wanders Mute and calm the moon, Blue upon the snowdrifts Sparkling silent down.
By the small pond dreaming, Stands the church a'gleam-- With its gold cross twinkling As a taper's beam.
Peaceful in the village Darkness reigns and sleep, Every hut is standing Snowed in window deep.
Out upon the highway Hushed and empty all, Now the howling watch dogs Even, silent fall.
After their day's labor Young and old are pressed Weak and worn, on their hard Narrow place of rest.
In one cottage only s.h.i.+nes a lamplight, where A sick old h.o.a.ry-head Groans in soul-despair.
Death is near,--and of her Grandchildren thinks she, Smitten sore the orphans Harvest time will be.
Ah the poor, poor children!
Now so young for strife, All untried and helpless In the woe of life!
Among stranger people Older they will grow-- Evil hearts will lure them Evil ways to go.
With disgrace too early They will make a bond, Shamed and G.o.d forsaken Sink unto the ground.
Dear G.o.d, thyself take them, Thy forsaken poor-- Staff and light be to them Thyself evermore!
And the sacred lamplight Calm and silent strays; On the holy pictures Fall its trembling rays;
O'er the aged features, O'er the dying form, O'er the two small children On the stove bench warm.
Sudden, through the stillness Rings a merry cry-- And his jingling troika Drives a reveller by!
Dies in silent distance Sleighbell clangor strong, And the careless, merry, Sorrow-troubling song.
NIKITIN.
THE BIRCH TREE
From bald and sun-parched earth it rises, One lonely birch, high towering-- Upon its withered crown wide spreading, Green leaf.a.ge never more will sing.
Up to the rim of the horizon Where veiling mists all soft enclose, Runneth the blossoming of flowers, The Steppe's green ocean waving flows.
In green enchantment stands the Kurgan, Where evening dampness doth enfold, The night descends with sleep and coolness, The morning sunbeams touch with gold.
Yet loveless, helpless stands the birch tree-- In heaven's grey, musing sad to view, And from its branches fall like tear-drops The gleaming pearls of morning dew.
Scattered, alas! her tender leaflets, In howling storms,--so far, so wide!
Ne'er will the birch, to greet the Springtide, Be fresh adorned in leafy pride!
NIKITIN.
NORTH AND SOUTH
Knowest thou the land of fragrance ardent glowing?
Where night sublimely sparkles on the flowing Of the sea? Murmuring in starlight gleam-- Weaving about the heart a wonder dream?
Refulgent in the silvering moonbeams white, In soft half darkness, gardens slumbering light; Only the fountain's iridescent foam Upon the gra.s.s falls splas.h.i.+ng down-- And images of G.o.ds with lips of silence Sunk in deep musing gaze on every side-- While, eloquent of fallen majesty, Ruins entwined with ivy tendrils be?
Soft pictured on the valley's verdant meadows Dark cypress trees reflect their slender shadows; Earth's bosom blooming in fecundity-- And freedom here man's joyful destiny.
Yet more than tropic's soft abundance thralling, My stormy North-land wilderness is calling!
Her snowflake flocks, her gleaming midnight frosts, The glory of grim forests on her coasts, Green tinted Steppes with distant bluish rim-- The trooping clouds in heaven's s.p.a.ces dim.
Unto the heart how the familiar cries!
The village mean that in the valley lies, The wealthy cities' towering majesty, The empty snow-fields' endless boundary,-- The changeful moods that all unbridled throng; Spirit of Russia and of Russian song!
With joy now gus.h.i.+ng forth,--with pain now ringing-- Unto the hearer's heart resistless singing.
Thou fairest picture! my breast with rapture sighs, My spirits free, victorious arise!
A song breaks forth to Russia's praise and glory, And tears of joy, the while I muse, are flowing.
And jubilant the kindling heart must cry-- Hail Russia, Hail! Thy loyal son am I!
NIKITIN.
HUNGER
