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

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

The Graves Of The Harem

Adam Bernard Mickiewicz, Simple Poetry

Becalmed

Adam Bernard Mickiewicz, Simple Poetry

The Pass Across The Abyss In The Tschufut-Kale

Adam Bernard Mickiewicz, Simple Poetry

The Ruins Of Balaclava

Adam Bernard Mickiewicz, Simple Poetry

English

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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

The Ackerman Steppe

Across sea-meadows measureless I go,
        My wagon sinking under grass so tall
The flowery petals in foam on me fall,
        And blossom-isles float by I do not know.
No pathway can the deepening twilight show;
        I seek the beckoning stars which sailors call,
And watch the clouds. What lies there brightening all?
        The Dneister's, the steppe-ocean's evening glow!

The silence! I can hear far flight of cranes--
        So far the eyes of eagle could not reach--
And bees and blossoms speaking each to each;
        The serpent slipping adown grassy lanes;
From my far home if word could come to me!--
        Yet none will come. On, o'er the meadow-sea!

Adam Bernard Mickiewicz

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

Baktschi Serai

In ruin are the spacious, splendid halls
        With frozen forest of white columns where
The Tartar Khan his palace builded fair,
        Where loneliest the shrilling cricket calls.
The ivy blackens over shining walls
        Enscribing in gigantic letters there
Some curse Belshazzar-like: Beware! Beware!--
        Then black as crepe from crested columns falls.

Within the burnished banquet room there sings
        The fountain of the harem pure and clear,
Just as of old it sang in twilights drear.
        But whither love and fame speed--on what wings?
When all things else must perish these endure!
        Yet both are gone! The fountain ripples pure.

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

The Grave Of Countess Potocka

In Spring of love and life, My Polish Rose,
        You faded and forgot the joy of youth;
Bright butterfly, it brushed you, then left ruth
        Of bitter memory that stings and glows.
O Stars! that seek a path my northland knows,
        How dare you now on Poland shine forsooth,
When she who loved you and lent you her youth
        Sleeps where beneath the wind the long grass blows?

Alone, My Polish Rose, I die, like you.
        Beside your grave a while pray let me rest
With other wanderers at some grief's behest.
        The tongue of Poland by your grave rings true.
High-hearted, now a young boy past it goes,
        Of you it is he sings, My Polish Rose.

Adam Bernard Mickiewicz