Part 34 (2/2)

What ardour roused my sleeping sense!

What magic longing caught me, bore me What yearning pressed my flaming heart!11 But with the past, Muse, let me part.

8.

Whatever feelings then lay hidden Within me a now they are no more: They went or changed, no longer bidden...

Peace unto you, alarms of yore!

It seemed it was the wild I needed, The pearl-edged waves that flowed, receded, The noise of sea, the rocks' cascade, And my ideal of proud, young maid, And nameless torment, tribulation...

Now other days, now other dreams, My springtime's fancies, high-flown themes You've quietened down, with resignation, And into my poetic gla.s.s Much water have I mixed, alas.

9.

I need another kind of image: A sandy, sloping eminence, Two rowans and a little cottage, A wicket gate, a broken fence, The sky when greyish clouds are pa.s.sing, The straw before the thresh-barn ma.s.sing, A pond beneath dense willow trees And ducklings doing as they please; I' m fond now of the balalaika And, at the tavern's door, the pack Of drunkards stamping the trepak.12 Now my ideal's a housewife a like her, It's peace alone that I desire, 'And cabbage soup, while I'm the squire.'13

10.

When recently in rainy weather I dropped into the cattle yard...

But fie on such prosaic blather, The motley dross of Flemish art!

Was such my habit in my heyday?

O fountain of Bakhchisaray,14 say!

Were such the thoughts your endless sound Communicated to my mind, When, watching you in silent wonder, Zarema first appeared to me Midst empty halls of luxury?...

Three years since then, and who should wander Along my tracks, if not Eugene, Recalling me, though long unseen.

11.

I lived in dust-submerged Odessa...

There for a long time skies are clear, Abundant trade that knows no leisure Readies its sails for every sphere; By Europe all things are invaded, The South s.h.i.+nes out in variegated And lively multiformity.

The tongue of golden Italy Resounds along the merry pavement, Where our imperious Slav walks cheek- By-jowl with Frenchman, Spaniard, Greek, Armenian, ponderous Moldavian And son of Egypt, Morali,15 Corsair, retired now from the sea.

12.

Our friend Tumansky16 has depicted Odessa in resounding rhyme, But partiality restricted His observations at the time.

Arriving in the town, our poet, Armed with lorgnette, set off to know it, Alone, above the sea a and then, Employing an enchanting pen, Extolled the gardens of Odessa.

All that is well and good, except That round about is naked steppe; In some few spots a recent measure Has forced young boughs on sultry days To mitigate the solar rays.

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