MAZEPPA.
("Ainsi, lorsqu’un mortel!")
[XXXIV., May, 1828.]
As when a mortal—Genius’ prize, alack!
Is, living, bound upon thy fatal back,
Thou reinless racing steed!
In vain he writhes, mere cloud upon a star,
Thou bearest him as went Mazeppa, far
Out of the flow’ry mead,—
So—though thou speed’st implacable,
(like him,
Spent, pallid, torn, bruised, weary, sore and dim,
As if each stride the nearer
bring
Him to the grave)—when comes the time,
After the fall, he rises—KING!
THE DANUBE IN WRATH.
("Quoi! ne pouvez-vous vivre ensemble?")
[XXXV., June, 1828.]
The River Deity upbraids his Daughters, the contributary
Streams:—
Ye daughters mine! will naught abate
Your fierce interminable hate?
Still am I doomed to rue the fate
That such unfriendly neighbors made?
The while ye might, in peaceful cheer,
Mirror upon your waters clear,
Semlin! thy Gothic steeples dear,
And thy bright minarets, Belgrade!
Fraser’s Magazine
("J’etais seul pres des flots.")
[XXXVII., September 5, 1828.]
I stood by the waves, while the stars soared in sight,
Not a cloud specked the sky, not a sail shimmered
bright;
Scenes beyond this dim world were revealed
to mine eye;
And the woods, and the hills, and all nature around,
Seem’d to question with moody, mysterious sound,
The waves, and the pure stars on high.
And the clear constellations, that infinite throng,
While thousand rich harmonies swelled in their song,
Replying, bowed meekly their diamond-blaze—
And the blue waves, which nothing may bind or arrest,
Chorus’d forth, as they stooped the white foam
of their crest
“Creator! we bless thee and praise!”
MY NAPOLEON.
("Toujours lui! lui partout!")
[XL., December, 1828.]
Above all others, everywhere I see
His image cold or burning!
My brain it thrills, and oftentime sets free
The thoughts within me yearning.
My quivering lips pour forth the words
That cluster in his name of glory—
The star gigantic with its rays of swords
Whose gleams irradiate all modern story.
I see his finger pointing where the shell
Should fall to slay most rabble,
And save foul regicides; or strike the knell
Of weaklings ‘mid the tribunes’
babble.
A Consul then, o’er young but proud,
With midnight poring thinned, and sallow,
But dreams of Empire pierce the transient cloud,
And round pale face and lank locks form
the halo.
