RUSSIAN LYRICS
& COSSACK SONGS



Martha Gilbert Dickinson Bianchi





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OF

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Books by
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THE KISS OF APOLLO net $1.35

GABRIELLB AND OTHER POEMS.

12mo, net $1.25

THE SIN OF ANGELS: A Novel net $1.30

A COSSACK LOVER: A Novel ... 12mo, net $1.30
THE CUCKOO'S NEST: A Novel . 12mo, net $1.50
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RUSSIAN LYRICS AND COSSACK SONGS.

...net $1.25



RUSSIAN LYRICS



SONGS OF COSSACK, LOVER,
PATRIOT AND PEASANT



DONE INTO ENGLISH 7ERSE

BY
MARTHA GILBERT DICKINSON BIANCHI

Author of ' ' Within the Hedge, " " The Cathedral. ' ' ' 'A\Wodern
Prometheus," "The Cuckoo's Nest," etc.




NEW YORK
DUFFIELD AND COMPANY

1916



COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY
DUFFIE1.D AND COMPANY



College
Library



3*3*7



To
"A soul of passion, mirth and tears"



i O,* T-.^

JL <-'.., a*^j i *



CONTENTS

PAGE

The Song of the Kazak Pushkin 3

Cradle Song of a Cossack Mother . . . Lermontoff 4

The Dagger Lermontoff 6

Don't Give Me the Wine!

(From the Georgian of Prince Tschawtschawadze) 7

The Delibash Pushkin 8

To the Don Pushkin 9

The Caucas Pushkin 10

The Cloister on Kasbek Pushkin 12

Goblins of the Steppes Pushkin 13

Under a Portrait of Jukowsky Pushkin 16

The Vision Pushkin 17

I Loved Thee Pushkin 18

Serenade Pushkin 19

A Winter Evening Pushkin 20

The Last Flower Pushkin 22

Stanzas from "Onegin"

Our Northern Winter's fickle Summer . . Pushkin 23

Sometimes He read Aloud with Olga . . . Pushkin 26

Love Condescends to Every Altar . . . Pushkin 27

How Sad to Me is Thine Appearing . . . Pushkin 28

The Memorial Pushkin 30

Tamara Lermontoff 32

The Gift of the Terek Lermontoff 35

On Departure for the Caucas Lermontoff 39



CONTENTS

PAGE

To the Clouds Lermontoff 40

To My Country Lermontoff 41

To Kasbek Lermontoff 43

The Angel Lermontoff 45

A Prayer Lermontoff 46

The Sail Lermontoff 47

I Am Not Byron Lermontoff 48

Like An Evil Spirit Lermontoff 49

To A. C. S Lermontoff 50

A Song Lermontoff 51

From D&non Lermontoff 52

The Prayer Lermontoff 53

The Palm Branch of Palestine .... Lermontoff 54

The Dispute Lermontoff 56

Heaven and the Stars Lermontoff 60

On Napoleon's Death Lermontoff 61

On the Death of Pushkin Lermontoff 62

Russia, O My Russia, Hail! Tolstoy 65

The Wolves Tolstoy 66

Autumn Tolstoy 68

Burnt Out Is Now My Misery Tolstoy 69

In Hours of Ebbing Tide Tolstoy 70

Swans Maikow 71

To Sleep Maikow 72

In Memory of My Daughter Maikow 73

Mother and Child Maikow 75

An Easter Greeting Maikow 76

At Easter Maikow 77

O Mountains of My Native Country! . . . Maikow 78

The Aeolian Harp Maikow 80



CONTENTS

PAGE

Ye Songs of Mine! Nekrassow 81

In War Nekrassow 82

A Song of Siberian Exiles Nekrassow 83

Freedom Nekrassow 84

A Farewell Nekrassow 85

The Love Letter Nekrassow 86

What the Sleepless Grandam Thinks . . Nekrassow 87

To Russia Nikitin 89

The Song of the Spendthrift Nikitin 94

The Spade is Deep Digging a Grave in the Mould

Nikitin 96

Gossip Nikitin 97

In a Peasant Hut Nikitin 98

Winter Night in the Village Nikitin 99

The Birch Tree Nikitin 102

North and South Nikitin 103

Hunger Fofanow 105

Faded the Footstep of Spring from Our Garden

Fofanow 107

The Beggar Fofanow 108

With Roses (From the Georgian of

Prince Tschawtschawadze) 109

The Stars (From the Caucasian of

Prince Oberlaine) no

Whispers and the Timid Breathing

("FfiteChenchine") ill

The Tales of the Stars 112

One Dearest Pair of Eyes I Love (Gipsy Song) . . . 113

A Gipsy Song Polonsky 114

At Last Plestcheeff 115



CONTENTS

PAGE

By An Open Window

The Grand Duke Constantino 116
With the Greatness of God All My Heart Is On Fire!

Nadson 117

The Poet Nadson 118

To the Muse Nadson 119

A Fragment Nadson 120

In May Nadson 121

In Memory of N. M. D Nadson 122

At the Grave of N. M. D Nadson 123

In Dreams Nadson 124

The Old Grey House Nadson 125

Call Him Not Dead, He Lives! Nadson 127

Brief Biographical Notes:

Alexander Sergjewitsch Pushkin 129

Michail Jurjewitsch Lermontoff 131

Count Alexis Constantino witsch Tolstoy 134

Apollon Nikola jewitsch Maikow 135

Nikolai Alexajewitsch Nekrassow 136

Ivan Ssawitsch Nikitin 137

Constantine Michailowitsch Fofanow 138

Semijon Jakolo witsch Nadson 138



To THE READER.

The translations in this little collection make no
pretension to being more than an effort to share the
delight found in them; from which most of the world
is debarred by the difficulty of the language in which
they are written. They have been chosen at random,
each for some intrinsic charm or because of its bear-
ing upon some peculiar phase of the author. Very
few of the lyrics of Pushkin have been included, for
the reason that the great founder of Russian poetry
has been more widely translated than any other Rus-
sian poet, and is therefore available in several lan-
guages.

Remembering always that Heine declared transla-
tion was betrayal, the rhyme and smoothness have
in every case been sacrificed when necessary to pre-
serve the exact rhythm, and as far as possible the
vigour and colour, as well as thought of the original;
a task entirely beyond me save for the co-operation of
an accomplished Russian linguist who has kindly as-
sisted in the literal translation of every poem here
presented.

M. G. D. B.



RUSSIAN LYRICS AND
COSSACK SONGS



THE SONG OF THE KAZAK

1Z"AZAK speeds ever toward the North,

Kazak has never heart for rest,
Not on the field, nor in the wood,

Nor when in face of danger pressed
His steed the raging stream must breast!

Kazak speeds ever toward the North,
With him a mighty power brings,
To win the honour of his land

Kazak his life unheeding flings
Till fame of him eternal sings!

Kazak brought all Siberia

At foot of Russia's throne to lie,

Kazak left glory in the Alps,

His name the Turk can terrify,
His flag he ever carries high!

Kazak speeds ever toward the North,
Kazak has never heart for rest,
Not on the field, nor in the wood,

Nor when in face of danger pressed
His steed the raging stream must breast!

PUSHKIN.



* The accent in singing falls sharply on the second
halfKazdk.

3



CRADLE SONG OF A COSSACK MOTHER

CLUMBER sweet, my fairest baby,

Slumber calmly, sleep
Peaceful moonbeams light thy chamber,

In thy cradle creep;
I will tell to thee a story,

Pure as dewdrop glow,
Close those two beloved eyelids

Lullaby, By-low!

List! The Terek o'er its pebbles

Blusters through the vale,
On its shores the little Khirgez

Whets his murdrous blade;
Yet thy father grey in battle

Guards thee, child of woe,
Safely rest thee hi thy cradle,

Lullaby, By-low!

Grievous times will sure befall thee,

Danger, slaughterous fire
Thou shalt on a charger gallop,

Curbing at desire;
And a saddle girth all silken

Sadly I will sew,
Slumber now my wide-eyed darling,

Lullaby, By-low!
4



CRADLE SONG OF A COSSACK MOTHER

When I see thee, my own Being,

As a Cossack true,
Must I only convoy give thee

"Mother dear, adieu!"
Nightly in the empty chamber

Blinding tears will flow,
Sleep my angel, sweetest dear one,

Lullaby, By-low!

Thy return I'll wait lamenting

As the days go by,
Ardent for thee praying, fearing

In the cards to spy.
I shall fancy thou wilt suffer,

As a stranger grow
Sleep while yet thou nought regrettest,

Lullaby, By-low!

I will send a holy image

'Gainst the foe with thee,
To it kneeling, dearest Being,

Pray with piety!
Think of me in bloody battle,

Dearest child of woe,
Slumber soft within thy cradle,

Lullaby, By-low!

LERMONTOFF.



THE DAGGER

T LOVE thee dagger mine, thou sure defence

I love the beauty of thy glitter cold,
A brooding Georgian whetted thee for war,
Forged for revenge thou wert by Khirgez bold.

A lily hand, in parting's silent woe,

Gave thee to me in morning's twilight shade;

Instead of blood, I saw thee first be-dewed
With sorrow's tear-pearls flowing o'er thy blade.

Two dusky eyes so true and pure of soul,
Mute in the throe of love's mysterious pain

Like thine own steel within the fire's glow,
Flashed forth to me then faded dull again.

For a soul-pledge thou wert by love appointed,
In my life's night to guide me to my end;

Stedfast and true my heart shall be forever,
Like thee, like thee, my steely hearted friend!

LERMONTOFF.



DON'T GIVE ME THE WINE!

T")ON'T give me the wine!

I am drunk of my love,
With the force of my passion for you!
Don't give me the wine!

Or my tongue will betray
All the love no one dreamed hitherto;
For wine will reveal all I hid in my breast,
All the bitter hot tears that were mine,
My thirst, without hope, for a future so blest
I am drunk of my love, don't give me the wine!

You promise me roses now, if I will drink
But one drop of the wine; if you please
Give only one breath from the rose of your lips!
And death's cup I will drain to the lees.
All passions are raging at once in my blood,
Know my frenzy! Love's madness is mine.
You seem for my suffering only to wish
I am drunk of my love!

Don't give me the wine !



From the Georgian of Prince Tschawtschawadze.



THE DELIBASH

the hostile camp in skirmish
Our men once were changing shot,
Pranced the Delibash his charger
'Fore our ranks of Cossacks hot.

Trifle not with free-born Cossacks!

Nor too o'er foolhardy be!
Thy mad mood thou wilt atone for

On his pike he'll skewer thee!

'Ware friend Cossack! Or at full bound,
Off thy head, at lightning speed

With his scimitar he'll sever

From thy trunk! He will indeed!

What confusion! What a roaring!

Halt! thou devil's pack, have care!
On the pike is lanced the horseman

Headless stands the Cossack there!

PUSHKIN.



Delibash is the Turkish synonym for Hotspur.



TO THE DON

^HROUGH the Steppes, see there he glances!

Silent flood glad hailed by me,
Thy far distant sons do proffer
Through me, greeting fond to thee!

Every stream knows thee as brother,

Don, thou river boasted wide!
The Araxes and Euphrates

Send thee greeting as they glide.

Fresh and strengthened for pursuing,
Scenting home within thy gleam

Drink again the Don'ish horses,
Flowing boundary, of thy stream!

Faithful Don! There also greet thee
Thy true warriors bold and free

Let thy vineyard's foaming bubbles
In the glass be spilled to thee!

PUSHKIN.



The valley of the Don is the home of the Russian
Cossack.



THE CAUCAS

'"pHE Caucas lies before my feet! I stand where
Glaciers gleam, beside a precipice rock-ribbed;
An eagle that has soared from off some distant cliff,
Lawless as I, sweeps through the radiant air!
Here I see streams at their sources up-welling,
The grim avalanches unrolling and swelling!

The soft cloudy convoys are stretched forth below,
Tattered by thronging mad torrents descending;
Beneath them the naked rocks downward are bending,
Still deeper, the wild shrubs and sparse herbage grow;
But yonder the forests stand verdant in flora
And birds are a'twitter in choiring chorus.

Yonder, cliff-nested are dwellings of mortals,

There pasture the lambs in sweet blossoming

meadows
There couch the herds in the cool deepening

shadows

There roar the Aragua's blue sparkling waters,
And lurketh the bandit safe hid in lone caverns,
Where Terek, wild sporting, is cutting the azure!

It leaps and it howls like some ravening beast
At first sight of feeding, through grating of iron

10



THE CAUCAS

It roars on the shore with a furious purring,
It licks on the pebbles with eagerest greed.
Vain struggle and rancor and hatred, alas!
'Tis enchained and subdued by the unheeding mass.

PUSHKIN.



ii



THE CLOISTER ON KASBEK

T7"ASBEK, thy regal canopy

High o'er all peaks revealed I see
By an eternal icy glare.
Hanging in cloudless glory ever
Like to an ark thy cloister there;
This world disturbing thy peace never,
Blest realm of joy remote in air!
Ah could I at thy mercy's threshold,
From durance cursed set myself free,
And in thine own etherial cloisters
Near thy Creator ever be!

PUSHKIN.



12



GOBLINS OF THE STEPPES

CTORMY clouds delirious straying,

Showers of whirling snowflakes white,
And the pallid moonbeams waning
Sad the heavens, sad the night!
Further speeds the sledge, and further,
Loud the sleighbell's melody,
Grewsome, frightful 'tis becoming,
'Mid these snow fields now to be!

Hasten! "That is useless, Master,
Heavier for my team their load,
And my eyes with snow o'er plastered
Can no longer see the road!
Lost all trace of our direction,
Sir, what now? The goblins draw
Us already round in circles,
Pull the sledge with evil claw!

See! One hops with frantic gesture,
In my face to grin and hiss,
See! It goads the frenzied horses
Onward to the black abyss!
In the darkness, like a paling
One stands forth, and now I see
Him like walking-fire sparkling
Then the blackness, woe is me!"
13



GOBLINS OF THE STEPPES

Stormy clouds delirious straying,
Showers of snowflakes whirling white,
And the pallid moonbeams waning
Sad the heavens, sad the night!
Sudden halt the weary horses,
Silent too the sleighbells whirr
Look! What crouches on the ground there?
"Wolf, or shrub, I know not, Sir."

How the wind's brood rage and whimper!

Scenting, blow the triple team;

See! One hops here! Forward Driver!

How his eyes with evil gleam!

Scarce controllable the horses,

How the harness bells resound!

Look! With what a sneering grimace

Now the spirit band surround!

In an endless long procession,
Formless, countless of their kind
Circle us in flying coveys
Like the leaves in Autumn wind.
Now in ghastly silence deathly,
Now with shrilling elfin cry
Is it some mad dance of bridal,
Or a death march passing by?

Stormy clouds delirious straying
Showers of snowflakes whirling white,
And the pallid moonbeams waning
Sad the heavens, sad the night!



GOBLINS OF THE STEPPES

Cloudward course the evil spirits
In unceasing phantom bands,
And their moaning and bewailing
Grip my heart with icy hands!

PUSHKIN.



UNDER A PORTRAIT OF JUKOWSKY

/ 1PHE charm and sweetness of his magic verse
Will mock the envious years for centuries!
Since youth, on hearing them, for glory burns,

The wordless sorrow comfort in them sees,
And careless joy to wistful musing turns.

PUSHKIN.



Jukowsky was a Russian poet.



16



THE VISION v

T REMEMBER a marvellous instant,
Unto me bending down from above,
Thy radiant vision appearing
As an angel of beauty and love.
'Mid the torments of desperate sadness,
In the torture of bondage and sighs,
To me rang thy voice so beloved
And I dreamed thy miraculous eyes.
But the years rolled along and life's tempests
My illusions, my youth overcame,
I forgot that sweet voice full of music
And thy glance like a heavenly flame.
In the covert and grief of my exile,
The days stretched unchanged in their flight,
Bereft inspiration or power,
Bereft both of love and of light.
To my soul now approaches awakening,
To me thou art come from above,
As a radiant and wonderful vision
As an angel of beauty and love.
As before my heart throbs with emotion,
Life looks to me worthy and bright,
And I feel inspiration and power
And again love and tears and the light!

PUSHKIN.

17



T LOVED thee; and perchance until this moment

Within my breast is smouldering still the fire!
Yet I would spare thy pain the least renewal,
Nothing shall rouse again the old desire!

I loved thee with a silent desperation
Now timid, now with jealousy brought low,
I loved devoutly, with such deep devotion
Ah may God grant another love thee so!

PUSHKIN.



18



A SERENADE

J WATCH Inesilla

Thy window beneath,
Deep slumbers the villa
In night's dusky sheath.

Enamoured I linger,

Close mantled, for thee

With sword and with guitar,
O look once on me!

Art sleeping? Wilt wake thee

Guitar tones so light?
The argus-eyed greybeard

My swift sword shall smite.

The ladder of ropes
Throw me fearlessly now!

Dost falter? Hast thou, Sweet,
Been false to thy vow?

I watch Inesilla

Thy window beneath,
Deep slumbers the villa
In night's dusky sheath!

PUSHKIN.
19



A WINTER EVENING

CABLE clouds by tempest driven,
Snowflakes whirling in the gales,
Hark it sounds like grim wolves howling,
Hark now like a child it wails!
Creeping through the rustling straw thatch.
Rattling on the mortared walls,
Like some weary wanderer knocking
On the lowly pane it falls.

Fearsome darkness fills the kitchen,
Drear and lonely our retreat,
Speak a word and break the silence,
Dearest little Mother, sweet!
Has the moaning of the tempest
Closed thine eyelids wearily?
Has the spinning wheel's soft whirring
Hummed a cradle song to thee?

Sweetheart of my youthful Springtime,
Thou true-souled companion dear
Let us drink! Away with sadness!
Wine will fill our hearts with cheer.
Sing the song how free and careless
Birds live in a distant land
Sing the song of maids at morning
Meeting by the brook's clear strand!
20



A WINTER EVENING

Sable clouds by tempest driven,
Snowflakes whirling in the gales,
Hark it sounds like grim wolves howling,
Hark now like a child it wails!
Sweetheart of my youthful Springtime,
Thou true-souled companion dear,
Let us drink! Away with sadness!
Wine will fill our hearts with cheer!

PUSHKIN.



21



THE LAST FLOWER

DICH the first flower's graces be,
But dearer far the last to me;
My spirit feels renewal sweet,
Of all my dreams hope or desire
The hours of parting oft inspire
More than the moments when we meet!

PUSHKIN.



22



THE COMING OF THE WINTER

Stanzas from "One gin"

/~\UR Northern Winter's fickle Summer,

Than Southern Winter scarce more bland-
Is undeniably withdrawing
On fleeting footsteps from the land.
Soon will the Autumn dim the heavens,
The light of sunbeams rarer grown
Already every day is shorter,
While with a smitten hollow tone
The forest drops its shadow leafage;
Upon the fields the mists lie white,
In lusty caravans the wild geese
Now to the milder South take flight;
Seasons of tedium draw near,
Before the door November drear!

From shivering mist ascends the morning,
The bustle of the fields declines,
The wolf walks now upon the highway,
In wolfish hunger howls and whines;
The traveller's pony scents him, snorting
The heedful wanderer breathless takes
His way in haste beyond the mountains!
And though no longer when day breaks
Forth from their stalls the herd begins
23



THE COMING OF THE WINTER

To drive the kine, his noon-day horn recalls.
The peasant maiden sings and spins,
Before her crackling, flaming bright
The pine chips, friend of Winter night.

And see! The hoar frost colder sparkles
And spreads its silver o'er the fields,
Alas! the golden days are vanished!
Reluctant Nature mournful yields.
The stream with ice all frozen over
Gleams as some fashionable parquet,
And thronging hordes of boyish skaters
Sweep forward on its crystal way.
On her red claws despondent swimming,
The plump goose parts the water cold,
Then on the ice with caution stalking
She slips and tumbles, ah behold!
Now the first snowflake idling down
Stars the depressing landscape brown.

At such a season in the country,
What can a man's amusements be?
Walk? And but more of empty highway
And of deserted village see?
Or let him -through the far Steppes gallop,
His horse can scarcely stand at all
His stamping hoofs in vain seek foothold,
The rider dreading lest he fall!
So then remain within thy paling,
Read thou in Pradt or Walter Scott,
24



THE COMING OF THE WINTER

Compare thy varying editions,
Drink, and thy scoffing mood spare not!
As the long evenings drag away
So doth the Winter too delay.

PUSHKIN.



[Pradt was a French political writer, Minister to
the Grand Duchy of Warsaw in 1812. Nine editions
of his History of the Embassy at Warsaw were de-
manded.]



FROM "ONEGIN"

COMETIMES he read aloud with Olga

A latter day romance discreet,
Whose author truly painted nature,
With cunning plot, insight complete;
Oft he passed over a few pages,
Too bald or tasteless in their art
And coloring, began on further,
Not to disturb the maiden heart.
Again, they sat for hours together,
With but a chess board to divide;
She with her arms propped on the table,
Deep pondering, puzzled to decide
Till Lenski from his inward storm
Captured her castle with his pawn!

PUSHKIN.



26



FROM "ONEGIN"

T OVE condescends to every altar,

Ah when in hearts of youth it springs,
Its coming brings such glad refreshment
As May rain o'er the pasture flings!
Lifted from passion's melancholy
The life breaks forth in fairer flower,
The soul receives a new enrichment
Fruition sweet and full of power.
But when on later altars arid
It downward sweeps, about us flows
Love leaves behind such deathly traces
As Autumn tempests where it blows
To strip the woods with ruthless hand,
And turn to soggy waste the land!

PUSHKIN.



27



FROM "ONEGIN"

I.IOW sad to me is thine appearing,

O Springtime, hour of love's unrest!
Within the soul what nameless languors!
What passions hid within the breast!
With what a heavy, heavy spirit
From the earth's rustic lap I feel
Again the joy of Springtide odors
That once could make my spirit reel!
No more for me such pleasures thrilling,
All that rejoices, that has life,
All that exults, brings but despondence
To one past passion as past strife,
All is but prose to such as he,
Wearied unto satiety.

Perchance we fain would pass unnoticed
That which in Autumn drooped and pined,
Now radiant in verdure springing,
Since it must of our loss remind;
As with a tortured soul we realize
In Nature's glad awakening,
That we shall never find renewal,
Who evermore are withering.
Perchance there haunts us in remembrance,
Our own most dear and lyric dream,
28



FROM "ONEGIN"

Another long forgotten Springtime
And trembling neath this pang supreme,
The heart faints for a distant country
And for a night beside the sea!

PUSHKIN.



29



THE MEMORIAL

"DEYOND compare the monument I have erected,
And to this spirit column well-worn the people's

path,

Its head defiant will out-soar that famous pillar
The Emperor Alexander hath!

I shall not vanish wholly, No! but young forever-
My spirit will live on, within my lyre will ring,
And men within this world shall hold me in remem-
brance
While yet one Singer lives to sing.

My glory shall in future fly through distant Russia,
Each race in its own tongue shall name me far and

wide,

The Slav, the Finn, the Kalmyk, all shall know me
The Tungoose in his reindeer hide.

Among my people I shall be long loved and cherished,
Because their noblest instincts I have e'er inflamed,
In evil hours I lit their hearts with fires of freedom,
And never for their pleasures blamed.

O Muse, pursue the calling of thy Gods forever!
Strive not for the garland, nor look upon the pain

30



THE MEMORIAL

Unmoved support the voice of scorn or of laudation,
And argument with Fools disdain!

PUSHKIN.



The Alexander column, standing before the Win-
ter Palace at St. Petersburg, is a monolith eighty feet
high; with the pedestal measuring one hundred and
fifty feet.



TAMARA

waves of the Terek are waltzing
In Dariel's wickedest pass,
There rises from bleakest of storm crags
An ancient grey towering mass.

In this tower by mad winds assaulted,

Sat ever Tamara, the Queen
A heavenly angel of beauty,

With a spirit of hell's own demesne.

Through the mist of the night her gold fires
Gleamed down through the valley below,

A welcome they threw to the pilgrim,
In their streaming and beckoning glow.

How clear rang the voice of Tamara!

How amorous did it invite!
The heart of the stranger enticing,

Seducing with magic delight!

The warrior was snared by her singing,
Nor noble, nor herd could withstand

Then noiseless her portal was opened
By eunuchs of shadowy hand.
32



TAMARA

With pearls rare adorned and strange jewels,

Reposed on a billowy nest,
A prey to voluptuous longing,

Tamara awaited her guest.

With passioned and thrilling embracement,
With straining of breast unto breast,

With sighing and trembling and transport
In lust's unrestrained, giddy zest

So revelled 'mid desolate ruins,
Of Lovers, past counting at least!

In their bridal night's wild distraction,
And in truth at their own death feast.

For when from the peaks of the mountains
The sun tore the night's veiling soft,

There reigned anew only the silence
On turret and casement aloft.