Part 5 (1/2)

On innocent delights I dote, Upon my lake I love to float, For law I _far niente_ take And every morning I awake The child of sloth and liberty.

I slumber much, a little read, Of fleeting glory take no heed.

In former years thus did not I In idleness and tranquil joy The happiest days of life employ?

L

Love, flowers, the country, idleness And fields my joys have ever been; I like the difference to express Between myself and my Eugene, Lest the malicious reader or Some one or other editor Of keen sarcastic intellect Herein my portrait should detect, And impiously should declare, To sketch myself that I have tried Like Byron, bard of scorn and pride, As if impossible it were To write of any other elf Than one's own fascinating self.

LI

Here I remark all poets are Love to idealize inclined; I have dreamed many a vision fair And the recesses of my mind Retained the image, though short-lived, Which afterwards the muse revived.

Thus carelessly I once portrayed Mine own ideal, the mountain maid, The captives of the Salguir's sh.o.r.e.(22) But now a question in this wise Oft upon friendly lips doth rise: Whom doth thy plaintive Muse adore?

To whom amongst the jealous throng Of maids dost thou inscribe thy song?

[Note 22: Refers to two of the most interesting productions of the poet. The former line indicates the _Prisoner of the Caucasus_, the latter, _The Fountain of Baktchiserai_. The Salguir is a river of the Crimea.]

LII

Whose glance reflecting inspiration With tenderness hath recognized Thy meditative incantation-- Whom hath thy strain immortalized?

None, be my witness Heaven above!

The malady of hopeless love I have endured without respite.

Happy who thereto can unite Poetic transport. They impart A double force unto their song Who following Petrarch move along And ease the tortures of the heart-- Perchance they laurels also cull-- But I, in love, was mute and dull.

LIII

The Muse appeared, when love pa.s.sed by And my dark soul to light was brought; Free, I renewed the idolatry Of harmony enshrining thought.

I write, and anguish flies away, Nor doth my absent pen portray Around my stanzas incomplete Young ladies' faces and their feet.

Extinguished ashes do not blaze-- I mourn, but tears I cannot shed-- Soon, of the tempest which hath fled Time will the ravages efface-- When that time comes, a poem I'll strive To write in cantos twenty-five.

LIV

I've thought well o'er the general plan, The hero's name too in advance, Meantime I'll finish whilst I can Canto the First of this romance.

I've scanned it with a jealous eye, Discovered much absurdity, But will not modify a t.i.ttle-- I owe the censors.h.i.+p a little.

For journalistic deglut.i.tion I yield the fruit of work severe.

Go, on the Neva's bank appear, My very latest composition!

Enjoy the meed which Fame bestows-- Misunderstanding, words and blows.

END OF CANTO THE FIRST

CANTO THE SECOND

The Poet

”O Rus!”--Horace

Canto The Second

[Note: Odessa, December 1823.]

I

The village wherein yawned Eugene Was a delightful little spot, There friends of pure delight had been Grateful to Heaven for their lot.