FROM MAIKOF.

For a long time last night I for sleep vainly yearned. I arose, my room window wide throwing; The night with its silence oppressed me, and burned, O’er me odours intoxicant blowing. Of a sudden the hedge ’neath my window-sill shook; My curtain blew back with a shimmer; And in floated a youth with a beaming look, Just as if from the moonlight a glimmer. Gliding up to my couch, came my wonderful guest, Whispered he, as a smile his lips parted, “Why from me, with your cheek ’neath the pillow prest, Like a startled wee fish, have you darted? “Look up! I’m a god—god of visions and dreams, Secret friend of the innocent maiden; And for thee, my own queen, for the first time, I ween, With a bliss from on high come I laden!” He spoke—and his hands my face lovingly seek; From its nook he it tenderly presses; Then a burning kiss fell on the curve of my cheek, And his lips sought my lips in caresses. Neath the breath of his mouth my strength seemed to have flown, From my breast unclaspt arms I extended, And there breathed in my ears, “You’re my own! you’re my own!” Distant notes, with harp’s melody blended! Swiftly glided the hours; when I opened my eyes, Rosy dawn through my chamber was streaming; Alone, locks dishevelled, I trembling arise, And I know not the drift of my dreaming.

Upon the mighty Neva’s bank, Along the winding woodland way, A Horseman rode, in forest wilds Of elm, of pine, of mosses grey. Before him rose a Fisher’s hut; Beneath a pine, by the blue stream, An aged, bearded Fisherman Was mending his boat’s broken beam. The Horseman said, “Grandsire! Good-day! God help thee, friend! how liveth thou? Doth thou catch much? and tell me, pray, Where doth thou sell thy takings now?” The old man answered sullenly, “Are fishes in the river few? And other market have I none, Except the town, there, close to you. “And how am I to fish to-day? What kind of turmoil’s here, you see! You fight; and, in the fight, a shell Has smashed my fishing-boat for me!” The Horseman bounded from his horse, Without a word the tools he grasped; And in a twinkling planked the boat, The rudder in the stern set fast. “See, now, old friend, thy boat’s all right! Out on the water boldly set; And, in the name of Peter’s luck, Cast forth into the deep thy net.” He vanished. Mused the stern old man: “I wonder who the de’il was he! In every inch he looked a king, But plied the hatchet splendidly.”

Soon “the Sun-bright Feast-day” cometh, I will claim my Easter kiss. Others, then, will stand around us; Pray, my Dora, mark you this! Just as if I never kissed you, Blushing red before the rest, You must kiss, with downcast eyelids; I will kiss, with smile represt.

God chose him from his earliest years; Revealed, ’mid glittering icebergs stood, In northern light, in gleam of stars, In roar of wave, in hum of wood, And bade him leave his Fisher’s net, And led him forth from town to town, That “Rus”[10] to him from gloomy cot To sparkling palace, might be known; And led him to famed Western climes, That there his genius might obtain All knowledge, from the earliest times Made known to mighty chosen men; That, from their torch of knowledge, he Might light his own, and, with right hand Uplifted high that all might see, Illume with it his native land.

Ferdinand, the King, was courtly! Pink of nice refinement he; All the naked plasts of Venus, Placed he under lock and key. But the Herculean statues, Left he in their places bare! Men he did not mind offending; Hurt the ladies? He’d not dare!

Beautiful I’m not, I know; Useless I in fight; How to men and maids am I, Such a dear delight? Songs, like sounds that ’mid strings stray, Fill this breast of mine, Smiling round my lips they play, In my eyes they shine!

See, in peasant’s cottage, flickering Shines a little fire, Where, around a little maiden, Draws a circle nigher. And from word to word her finger Slowly pointing leads, As, with effort, to the peasants She a paper reads. Deep in thought, intently listening, They a silence keep; Save when some one bids the women Hush the babes to sleep. Mothers soothe their crying infants With the teething toy, While they, too, to catch the reading All their ears employ. Seated in the chimney corner Now for many years, With bent head the grandsire gazes, Though he nothing hears. Is the maiden clever, that they Thus to her give heed? Nay! but simply in that household She alone could read: And her lot it was to read out, To the peasants old, The glad news of longed-for freedom, Which the paper told. The full meaning of the message Knew not she nor they; But all, darkly, felt the dawning Of a better day. Brothers! see, the day-dawn flushes! Darkness yields its place, Sons of yours, ere long, will look on Daylight face to face. More and more let darkness lighten! Day arise in might! Even now, in vision, see I Rays of rising light. They are shining on the forehead, Gleaming in the look, Of that thoughtful little maiden With her little book. Freedom, Brothers! This is only First step on the way To the kingdom, where, in knowledge, Shines eternal day!

Dank the darkness on the cliff-side; Faintly outlined from below, In their modest maiden gladness, Glaciers in the dawn’s blush glow. What new life upon me blowing, Breathes from yonder snowy height, From that depth of limpid turquoise Flashing in the morning light? There, I know, dread Terror dwelleth, Track of man there is not there; Yet my heart in answer swelleth To the challenge, “Come thou here!”

Little sufferer—all on fire! All’s to him so trying! On my shoulder lean thy head, On my bosom lying! I will walk about with thee, Sleep, my own sweet dearie. Shall I tell a little tale? “Once there lived a fairy”— No? Thee likes not silly tales? P’r’aps a song will take thee! “Pine-wood rustling dark and dank, Big fox, wee fox, wakes he. In the dark pine-wood will I——” Is my own pet sleeping? “Gather blackberries for thee Brimful baskets heaping. In the dark pine-wood will I——” Hush! he fast is sleeping. Open wide his feverish lips, Like a wee bird, keeping. “In the dark pine-wood will I,” Walks the mother, singing— Till the long dark night declines, Back the day-dawn bringing. Singing—while her weary arms With dull pain are tingling— Walks the mother; with her sighs Frequent tears are mingling; And scarce stirs the restless child, Tossing in its fever, Ere again that song resounds, Soft and low as ever. With thy scythe depart, O Death, Spare the tender blossom! Fierce the fight ere she will yield Baby from her bosom. With her whole soul will she shield, E’en though sore affrighted, That mysterious flame of life Which from her was lighted, For scarce rose that little flame, Ere to her revealed was What of love,—of wondrous power,— In her breast concealed was.

I would kiss you, lover true! But I fear the moon may spy; Little bright stars watch us too. Little star might fall from sky To the blue sea, telling all! To the oars the sea will tell, Oars, in turn, tell Fisher Eno— Him whom Mary loveth well— And, when Mary knows a thing, All the neighbourhood will know, How by moonlight, in the garden, Where the fragrant flowers grow, I caressed, and fondly kissed thee, While the silver apple-tree Shed its blooms on you and me!

How pure and how sweet, Little snowdrop, you blow! While, by you peeped through, Fade the last streaks of snow. Thus our last tears stream For a sorrow gone by, While dawns the first dream Of a joy drawing nigh.

A smile and a tear, the sun and the shower, How sweet they flash and flow! Like sunlight clear, through the sparkling tear Shines thy soul, refreshed by woe.