Kostrov.
John Bowring translation
THE VOW.
The rose is my favourite flower: On its tablets of crimson I swore, That up to my last living hour I never would think of thee more. I scarcely the record had made, Ere Zephyr, in frolicsome play, On his light, airy pinions convey’d Both tablet and promise away.
HISTORY OF MAN.
ANONYMOUS.
What is man’s history? Born—living—dying— Leaving the still shore for the troubled wave— Struggling with storm-winds, over shipwrecks flying, And casting anchor in the silent grave. B.