[_Tamara is the Russian Lorelei. The ruins of her castle are still shown in the pa.s.s of Darjal on the famous Georgian Road_.]

THE GIFT OF THE TEREK

Through the rocks in wildest courses Seethes the Terek grim of mood, Tempest howling its bewailing, Pearled with foam its tearful flood.

At the mountain's feet soft streaming, Gentler grown its murmurs be, And with greeting full of fawning Speaks to the Caspian Sea:

"Hospitable part thy billows, Give me room, oh Ocean grave!

From a distance drawing thither-- Scarce my weary currents wave.

Born upon the edge of Kasbek, By the breast of clouds renewed, Hatred have I sworn to mankind, Who with us, the free, make feud.

See, by rage of my own fury Lies despoiled my Darjal home, And as playthings for thy children, Pebbles bearing now I come."

Yet upon her strands a'dreaming, Mute the grey Sea did remain, And the Terek, silver foaming, Spoke caressingly again.

"Grey Sea I would serve thee only, Have a present borne to-day-- See, 'tis a young Carabineer Who has fallen in the fray.

How his coat of mail is gleaming Silver on the billows' span!

Golden on his trappings shining Blessing of the Alcoran!

Menacing the one who slew him Scowls the brow's relentless feud, By his n.o.ble life blood crimsoned O'er his lips his hair is glued.

Through the half-closed eyelids glancing Still the l.u.s.t of quarrel mocks, From his head deep underneath him Flow the matted raven locks."

Motionless upon her beaches Did the grey Sea still remain, And the Terek foaming yellow In displeasure spoke again.

"So then, take him as a present, As I nothing fairer know On this round earth,--for thee only This rare prize I've guarded so!

'Tis a mountain Cossack's body Wafted 'mid my billows' dance, See his hair,--no silk is softer-- See his shoulder's gold expanse!

See how o'er his red lips speechless Now the seated eyes find rest; Trickling yet the purple life blood From the small wound on his breast.

For a young and holy maiden, Weeps lamenting, every heart!

One sole Cossack in the village, In this mourning takes no part.

From the confines of his country Rode he forth with boding grey, 'Neath the dagger of the Tscherkes He has breathed his soul away."

And the Terek paused; behold now In the gleaming foam flood drowned, Silvered in the spraying billows Dips a head with rushes crowned.

And the h.o.a.ry one's lips whisper Haughty words of youthful fire, And the eyes lit with love l.u.s.tre Flame with pa.s.sionate desire.

Foaming, rushing on swift longing, Seethed he up in youthful zest-- And the Terek flood was wedded With him in embraces blest.

LERMONTOFF.

ON DEPARTURE FOR THE CAUCAS

Farewell my hateful Russian country!

People of lord and serf you are-- Farewell, salute, bent knee and hand-kiss, Three-masters, uniform and star!

Soon will the Caucas now conceal me, There I shall not discovered be By eyes and ears of paid, false sergeants-- Who all do hear and all do see!

LERMONTOFF.

TO THE CLOUDS

Clouds--ye eternal wanderers in hunting grounds of air, High o'er the verdant Steppes, wide through the blue of heaven-- Coursing fraternal,--say, must ye exiled as I From the beloved North to the far South be driven?

O tell me, were ye outlawed thus by Fate's behest?

Drives ye forth open hate, or secret grudge flee ye?

Follows ye unappeased an evil-doer's curse?

Are ye pursued by poisonous words of calumny?

Ah no! Only from the unfruitful earth ye fly; Free are your sufferings, your blessedness is free, Ye know not wretchedness that holds us here in chains, Know not the joy of home or exile's misery!

LERMONTOFF.

TO MY COUNTRY

With love of my own race I cling unto my country, Whatever dubious reason may protesting cry; The shame alone of all her blood bought glory, Her haughty self-a.s.surance, conscious pride, And the ancestral faith's traditions dark, With woe have penetrated all my heart.

And yet I love it! Why, I cannot say; The endless snowy Steppes so silent brooding, In the pine forests Autumn winds pursuing-- The flood's high water on all sides in May.

By peasant cart I fain would haste in nightly darkness, Through the lone wilderness and village desolate, How hospitable shines the sole beam sparkling To me from each poor hut! Filled with content so great, The smell of stubble burnt, delights. Piled high The wagons silent standing take their nightly rest, On distant hills the silver birches I descry, Framed gold by fertile fields the sacred picture blest.

Then with a joy unshared save by the vagrant, I see the threshing floor well filled and fragrant, The sloping straw-thatched cottage roofs again, The window panels carved, of varied stain.

Nightly could I, till morning grey arrested, Gaze on the dancing, stamping, whistling crowd, Watching the villager,--young, happy, festive-- And hearing drunken peasants glad carouse!

LERMONTOFF.

TO KASBEK

With winged footsteps now I hasten Unto the far cold North away, Kasbek,--thou watchman of the East, To thee, my farewell greetings say!