# Poems (Pushkin, Panin, 1888)/Miscellaneous Poems

Poems: Miscellaneous.
THE BIRDLET.
IV. 133.
In exile I sacredly observe The custom of my fatherland: I freedom to a birdlet give On Spring's holiday serene. And now I too have consolation: Wherefore murmur against my God When at least to one living being I could of freedom make a gift?
1823.
THE NIGHTINGALE.
IV. 45.
In silent gardens, in the spring, in the darkness of the night Sings above the rose from the east the nightingale; But dear rose neither feeling has, nor listens it, But under its lover's hymn waveth it and slumbers.
Dost thou not sing thus to beauty cold? Reflect, О bard, whither art thou striding? She neither listens, nor the bard she feels. Thou gazest? Bloom she does; thou callest?— Answer none she gives!
1827.
THE FLOWERET.
IV. 95.
A floweret, withered, odorless In a book forgot I find; And already strange reflection Cometh into my mind.
Bloomed, where? when? In what spring? And how long ago? And plucked by whom? Was it by a strange hand? Was it by a dear hand? And wherefore left thus here?
Was it in memory of a tender meeting? Was it in memory of a fated parting? Was it in memory of a lonely walk? In the peaceful fields or in the shady woods?
Lives he still? Lives she still? And where their nook this very day? Or are they too withered Like unto this unknown floweret?
1828.
THE HORSE.
IV. 271.
Why dost thou neigh, О spirited steed, Why thy neck so low, Why thy mane unshaken Why thy bit not gnawed? Do I then not fondle thee? Thy grain to eat art thou not free? Is not thy harness ornamented, Is not thy rein of silk, Is not thy shoe of silver, Thy stirrup not of gold?
The steed in sorrow answer gives: Hence am I quiet Because the distant tramp I hear, The trumpet's blow and the arrow's whizz; And hence I neigh, since in the field No longer feed I shall, Nor in beauty live and fondling, Neither shine with harness bright. ​For soon the stern enemy My harness whole shall take And the shoes of silver Tear he shall from feet mine light. Hence it is that grieves my spirit: That in place of my chaprak With thy skin shall cover he My perspiring sides.
1833.
TO A BABE.
IV. 144.
Child, I dare not over thee Pronounce a blessing; Thou art of consolation a quiet angel: May then happy be thy lot.…
THE POET.
(IV. 2).
Ere the poet summoned is To Apollo's holy sacrifice In the world's empty cares Engrossed is half-hearted he.
His holy lyre silent is And cold sleep his soul locks in; And of the world's puny children, Of all puniest perhaps is he.
Yet no sooner the heavenly word His keen ear hath reached, Than up trembles the singer's soul Like unto an awakened eagle.
The world's pastimes him now weary And mortals' gossip now he shuns To the feet of popular idol His lofty head bends not he.
​Wild and stern, rushes he, Of tumult full and sound, To the shores of desert wave, Into the widely-whispering wood.
1827.
TO THE POET.
SONNET.
(IV. 9).
Poet, not popular applause shalt thou prize! Of raptured praise shall pass the momentary noise; The fool's judgment hear thou shalt, and the cold mob's laughter— Calm stand, and firm be, and—sober!
Thou art king: live alone. On the free road Walk, whither draws thee thy spirit free: Ever the fruits of beloved thoughts ripening, Never reward for noble deeds demanding.
In thyself reward seek. Thine own highest court thou art; Severest judge, thine own works canst measure. Art thou content, О fastidious craftsman? Content? Then let the mob scold, And spit upon the altar, where blazes thy fire. Thy tripod in childlike playfulness let it shake.
1830.
THE THREE SPRINGS.
IV. 134.
In the world's desert, sombre and shoreless Mysteriously three springs have broken thro': Of youth the spring, a boisterous spring and rapid; It boils, it runs, it sparkles, and it murmurs. The Castalian Spring, with wave of inspiration In the world's deserts its exiles waters; The last spring—the cold spring of forgetfulness, Of all sweetest, quench it does the heart's fire.
1827.
THE TASK.
IV. 151.
The longed-for moment here is. Ended is my long-yeared task. Why then sadness strange me troubles secretly? My task done, like needless hireling am I to stand, My wage in hand, to other task a stranger? Or my task regret I, of night companion silent mine, Gold Aurora's friend, the friend of my sacred household gods?
1830.
SLEEPLESSNESS.
IV. 101.
I cannot sleep, I have no light; Darkness 'bout me, and sleep is slow; The beat monotonous alone Near me of the clock is heard. Of the Fates the womanish babble, Of sleeping night the trembling, Of life the mice-like running-about,— Why disturbing me art thou? What art thou, О tedious whisper? The reproaches, or the murmur Of the day by me misspent? What from me wilt thou have? Art thou calling or prophesying? Thee I wish to understand, Thy tongue obscure I study now.
1830.
[QUESTIONINGS.]
IV. 98.
Useless gift, accidental gift, Life, why given art thou me? Or, why by fate mysterious To torture art thou doomed?
Who with hostile power me Out has called from the nought? Who my soul with passion thrilled, Who my spirit with doubt has filled?…
Goal before me there is none, My heart is hollow, vain my mind And with sadness wearies me Noisy life's monotony.
1828.
[CONSOLATION.]
IV. 142.
Life,—does it disappoint thee? Grieve not, nor be angry thou! In days of sorrow gentle be: Come shall, believe, the joyful day.
In the future lives the heart: Is the present sad indeed? 'T is but a moment, all will pass; Once in the past, it shall be dear.
1825.
[FRIENDSHIP.]
III. 201.
Thus it ever was and ever will be, Such of old is the world wide: The learned are many, the sages few, Acquaintance many, but not a friend!
[FAME.]
III. 102.
Blessed who to himself has kept His creation highest of the soul, And from his fellows as from the graves Expected not appreciation! Blessed he who in silence sang And the crown of fame not wearing, By mob despised and forgotten, Forsaken nameless has the world! Deceiver greater than dreams of hope, What is fame? The adorer's whisper? Or the boor's persecution? Or the rapture of the fool?
1824.
THE ANGEL.
IV. 108.
At the gates of Eden a tender angel With drooping head was shining; A demon gloomy and rebellious Over hell's abyss was flying.
The Spirit of Denial, the Spirit of Doubt The Spirit of Purity espied; And a tender warmth unwittingly Now first to know it learned he.
Adieu, he spake, thee I saw: Not in vain hast thou shone before me; Not all in the world have I hated, Not all in the world have I scorned.
1827.
[HOME-SICKNESS.]
III. 131.
Mayhap not long am destined I In exile peaceful to remain, Of dear days of yore to sigh, And rustic muse in quiet With spirit calm to follow.
But even far, in foreign land, In thought forever roam I shall Around Trimountain mine: By meadows, river, by its hills, By garden, linden nigh the house.
Thus when darkens day the clear, Alone from depths of grave, Spirit home-longing Into the native hall flies To espy the loved ones with tender glance.
1825.
[INSANITY.]
III. 149.
God grant I grow not insane: No, better the stick and beggar's bag; No, better toil and hunger bear.
Not that I upon my reason Such value place; not that I Would fain not lose it.
If freedom to me they would leave How I would lasciviously For the gloomy forest rush!
In hot delirium I would sing And unconscious would remain With ravings wondrous and chaotic.
And listen would I to the waves And gaze I would full of bliss Into the empty heavens.
​And free and strong then would I be Like a storm the fields updigging, Forest-trees uprooting.
But here 's the trouble: if crazy once, A fright thou art like pestilence, And locked up now shalt thou be.
To a chain thee, fool, they 'll fasten And through the gate, a circus beast, Thee to nettle the people come.
And at night not hear shall I Clear the voice of nightingale Nor the forest's hollow sound,
But cries alone of companions mine And the scolding guards of night And a whizzing, of chains a ringing.
1833.
[DEATH-THOUGHTS.]
IV. 93.
Whether I roam along the noisy streets Whether I enter the peopled temple, Whether I sit by thoughtless youth, Haunt my thoughts me everywhere.
I say, Swiftly go the years by: However great our number now, Must all descend the eternal vaults,— Already struck has some one's hour.
And if I gaze upon the lonely oak I think: the patriarch of the woods Will survive my passing age As he survived my father's age.
And if a tender babe I fondle Already I mutter, Fare thee well! I yield my place to thee. For me 'T is time to decay, to bloom for thee
​Every year thus, every day With death my thought I join Of coming death the day I seek among them to divine.
Where will Fortune send me death? In battle? In wanderings, or on the waves? Or shall the valley neighboring Receive my chilled dust?
But tho' the unfeeling body Can everywhere alike decay, Still I, my birthland nigh Would have my body lie.
Let near the entrance to my grave Cheerful youth be in play engaged, And let indifferent creation With beauty shine there eternally.
1829.
[RIGHTS.]
IV. 10.
Not dear I prize high-sounding rights By which is turned more head than one; Not murmur I that not granted the Gods to me The blessed lot of discussing fates, Of hindering kings from fighting one another; And little care I whether free the press is.
All this you see are words, words, words! Other, better rights, dear to me are; Other, better freedom is my need.… To depend on rulers, or the mob— Is not all the same it? God be with them! To give account to none; to thyself alone To serve and please; for power, for a livery Nor soul, nor mind, nor neck to bend: Now here, now there to roam in freedom Nature's beauties divine admiring, And before creations of art and inspiration Melt silently in tender ecstasy— This is bliss, these are rights!.…
THE GYPSIES.
IV. 157.
Over the wooded banks, In the hour of evening quiet, Under the tents are song and bustle And the fires are scattered.
Thee I greet, О happy race! I recognize thy blazes, I myself at other times These tents would have followed.
With the early rays to-morrow Shall disappear your freedom's trace, Go you will—but not with you Longer go shall the bard of you.
He alas, the changing lodgings, And the pranks of days of yore Has forgot for rural comforts And for the quiet of a home.
THE DELIBASH.
IV. 155.
Cross-firing behind the hills: Both camps watch, theirs and ours; In front of Cossaks on the hill Dashes 'long brave Delibash
О Delibash, not to the line come nigh, Do have mercy on thy life; Quick 't is over with thy frolic bold, Pierced thou by the spear shalt be
Hey, Cossak, not to battle rush The Delibash is swift as wind; Cut he will with crooked sabre From thy shoulders thy fearless head.
They rush with yell: are hand to hand; And behold now what each befalls: Already speared the Delibash is Already headless the Cossak is!