Tschatir Dagh (Mirza)

The reverent Mussulman bends low to greet
        You, Tschatir Dagh, Crimea's bright-masted ship!
World-altar,--minaret--the place where dip
        Down stairs from golden Heaven for the feet!
You guard the door of God in splendor meet,
        Like Gabriel with holy sword on hip;
In bright mist mantled from the toe to lip,
        Tour turban set with alien stars and sweet.

If winter rule the world, or summer's sun,
        If Giaour rage about, or winds are wild,
Above them, Tschatir Dagh, you, changeless one,
        Are like to Allah, pure and undefiled;
Aloft you tower from out the lowly sod
        To give to men again the will of God.

Adam Bernard Mickiewicz

Adam Bernard Mickiewicz was a Polish poet, dramatist, essayist, publicist, translator, and professor. He is regarded as one of Poland's greatest Romantic poets and is a leading figure in Polish Romanticism. Mickiewicz's major works include the epic poem 'Pan Tadeusz,' a national epic of Poland, set during the Napoleonic era. His works often reflect themes of Polish nationalism and patriotism, and he became an important symbol of the Polish struggle for independence.

Adam Bernard Mickiewicz

Tschatir Dagh (The Pilgrim)

Adam Bernard Mickiewicz, Simple Poetry

On Juda's Cliff

Adam Bernard Mickiewicz, Simple Poetry

The Ackerman Steppe

Adam Bernard Mickiewicz, Simple Poetry

Baydary

Adam Bernard Mickiewicz, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Mountains From The Keslov Steppe

(Pilgrim)

What would Great Allah with the frozen sea?
        Would he of icy clouds a throne carve bright,
Or would the demons of the deepest night
        A bar build where the shining stars sweep free?
It gleams like pagan cities fired, kings flee.
        When Day was anciently destroyed by Night
Did Allah amid chaos fix this light
        To guide the star-worlds of eternity?

(Mirza)

Up there I've journeyed where the winter reigns,
        And seen the rivers bitten black like lines
On Tschatir Dagh, where the white cloud reclines,
        Which not the wildest eagle's shadow stains,
Where cradled under me the thunders sleep
        And Allah and the stars their watches keep.

Adam Bernard Mickiewicz

Tschatir Dagh (The Pilgrim)

Below me half a world I see outspread;
        Above, blue heaven; around, peaks of snow;
And yet the happy pulse of life is slow,
        I dream of distant places, pleasures dead.
The woods of Lithuania I would tread
        Where happy-throated birds sing songs I know;
Above the trembling marshland I would go
        Where chill-winged curlews dip and call o'er head.

A tragic, lonely terror grips my heart,
        A longing for some peaceful, gentle place,
And memories of youthful love I trace.
        Unto my childhood home I long to start,
And yet if all the leaves my name could cry
        She would not pause nor heed as she passed by.

Adam Bernard Mickiewicz

Baktschi Serai By Night

From out the mosques the pious wend their way;
        Muezzin voices tremble through the night;
Within the sky the pallid King of Light
        Wraps silvered ermine round him while he may,
And Heaven's harem greets its star array.
        One lone white cloud rests in the azure height--
A veiled court lady in some sorrow's plight--
        Whom cruel love and day have cast away.

The mosques stand there; and here tall cypress trees;
        There--mountains, towering, black as demons frown,
Which Lucifer in rage from God cast down.
        Like sword blades lightning flickers over these,
And on an Arab steed the wild Khan rides
        Who goes to Baktschi Serai which night hides.

Adam Bernard Mickiewicz

The Graves Of The Harem

They sleep well here whom Allah loved and kept
        And treasured in his vineyard fair and fine,
Most lustrous of the Orient pearls that shine,
        Which youth found where the waves of passion swept.
Here, where in peace perpetual they have slept,
        A turban beckons where the roses twine,
A banner flutters out in silken line,
        And sometimes here a Giaour's name is kept.

Oh! roses of this paradise of old,
        The eyes that loved not Allah saw you not,
Nor arms that prayed not eastward could enfold!
        But now a Christian treads this hallowed spot;
Wise Allah, curse not him who bows his head
        Amid the marble shrines of Allah's dead!

Adam Bernard Mickiewicz

The Pass Across The Abyss In The Tschufut-Kale

(Mirza)

Pray! Pray! Let loose the bridle. Look not down!
        The humble horse alone has wisdom here.
He knows where blackest the abysses leer
        And where the path in safety leads us down.
Pray, and look upward to the mountain's crown!
        The deep below is endless where you peer;
Stretch not the hand out as you pass, for fear
        The added weight of that might plunge you down.

And check your thoughts' free flight, too, while you go;
        Let all of Fancy's fluttering sails be furled
Here where Death watches o'er the riven world.

(Pilgrim)

        I lived to cross the bridge of ancient snow!
                But what I saw my tongue no more can tell,
        The angels only could rehearse that well.


(MIRZA...

Adam Bernard Mickiewicz

Alushta By Night

The drooping, weary day night pushed aside;
        On Tschatir Dagh the sullen sun and low
Paints phantom purple upon ancient snow;
        While forest ways within, the wanderers hide.
Night veils the mountains and the valleys wide;
        The thunderous brooks are dream-held, dulled, and slow;
Beneath the blackness fragrant flowers blow
        And rich leaf-music clothes each valley side.

Almost my waking eyes are dream-held too;
        With gold a meteor marks the deep-domed sky
And fountain-like the fiery sparks float by.
        Oh! Beauty of the Eastern Night, you woo
My spirit like the odalisque, who held
        Men captive till her kiss the dream dispelled!

Adam Bernard Mickiewicz