Muraviev.

Glide, majestic Neva! glide thee, Deck’d with bright and peaceful smiles; Palaces are raised beside thee, Midst the shadows of the isles. Stormy Russian seas thou bindest With the ocean—by the grave Of our glorious Tzar thou windest, Which thy grateful waters lave. And the middle-ocean’s surges All thy smiling naiads court; While thy stream to Paros urges, And to Lemnos’ classic port. Hellas’ streams, their glory shaded, See the brightest memories fade; Glassy mirrors—how degraded! Dimmed by Kislar Aga’s shade. While thy happier face is bearing Ever-smiling images, On thy busy banks appearing Crowds in gaiety and peace. Thames’ and Tagus’ gathering prizes, Spread their riches o’er thy breast, While thy well-known banner rises, Rises proudly o’er the rest. In thy baths what beauties bathe them, Goddesses of love and light; There Erota loves to swathe them In the brightest robes of night. Cool thy smiling banks at even, Cool thy grottos and thy cells, Where, by gentle breezes driven, Oft the dancing billow swells. Then thou gatherest vapours round thee, Veil’st thee in thy twilight dress; Love and Mirth have now unbound thee— Yield thee to thy waywardness. Thou dost bear the dying over, Weary of his earthly dream⁠[1]⁠; And with awful mists dost cover All the bosom of the stream. With thy car thou troublest never The calm silence of the deep; Syrens dance around thee ever, Laughing o’er thy quiet sleep. Peaceful goddess! oft the singer Sees thee, in his ecstasy, On the rock he loves to linger, Sleepless—then he meets with thee.

Fame and glory’s feeble embers Fade o’er many a hero brave; But the faithful Pole remembers The good prince—King Boleslav. True to love, though purple-girded— True to friendship, though a king; In his inner soul there herded Thoughts for ever festering. He was happy—but two brothers Saw with dark and secret hate Their proud father-land another’s— They aspired to rule the state. They were loved—the king delighted All his love to pour on them; But a maiden’s faith was plighted, And he saw the promised gem. As the lily, courted only By the breezes of the wood; So Volhynia’s princess lonely, Shrouded her in solitude. Sbignei saw—and loved—communion Of affections swiftly grew: They were sworn to holy union, Sworn to Hymen’s pledges true. List!—the trumpets call the forces; See the dust clouds on the fields; Hark!—the impatient neigh of horses— ‘To the fight!’—and Sbignei yields. To the town the monarch drew him, Not in pride of victory;— Saw the princess—and he threw him Bending at the lady’s knee. Tears adown her cheeks were flowing, And in agony she cried: ‘Whither is my Sbignei going? O desert me not—thy bride!’ Yet two moons had told their story— Sick with love is Boleslav; He forgot his martial glory, And his army true and brave. Sbignei now all truce hath broken, His Bohemian troops he calls; See his rebel standard-token Marching on Volhynia’s walls. ’Tis in vain—he is forsaken— The Bohemian bands have fled; He himself a prisoner taken— But his vizor veils his head. See!—the jealous king espies him Sleeping on Volhynia’s knee— Draws his dagger and destroys him— ’Twas his brother!—’twas not he! Who shall tell the murderer’s madness— Who shall paint his deathlike look? There he stood, in grief and sadness, Staggering—starting—thunderstruck. Fain his steel he would have buried In his tortur’d throbbing breast; But th’ attendant courtiers hurried, From his hand that steel to wrest. Then he left his kingly palace, All he left—except his woe; To the spot that Calvary hallows, Pilgrim-like he vow’d to go. Every city where he wander’d Heard his crime, and heard his prayers: O’er his wretched fate he ponder’d, Asking pardon even with tears. Be he pardon’d!—his repentance— May it bring his soul relief: Mournful is man’s earthly sentence, Glory is no shield from grief. She bent her head, and the tears that fell Were veil’d as there were shame in tears: Her lips were closed, but a low ‘farewell’ Had glided from those lips of hers. The pale moon shone, and she raised her eye, It sparkled in the heavenly ray— A smile awoke, and the tear was dry— And the maiden sped her on her way.