General Characteristics

"Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happinessAre driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess:The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vainThe shore to which their shivered sail shall never stretch again.

"Then the mortal coldness of the soul till death itself comes down;It cannot feel for other's woes, it dare not dream it's own.That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears,And though the eye may sparkle still, 't is where the ice appears,

"Oh, could I feel as I have felt, or be what I have been,Or weep as I could once have wept o'er many a vanished scene,As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be,So midst the withered waste of life, those tears would flow to me."

"I heard the trailing garments of the nightSweep through her marble halls!I saw her sable skirts all fringed with lightFrom the celestial walls.From the cool cisterns of the midnight air,My spirit drank repose."

For the like of this one can no longer go even to Shakespeare'sSonnets. For Shakespeare was still a poet. One must now go to Mrs.Deland, who is not even that. For observe:

"When noisy day to mortals quiet grows,And upon the city's silent wallsNight's shadow half-transparent lies."

"I bear light shade for the leaves when laidIn their noonday dreams.From my wings are shaken the dews that wakenThe sweet buds every one,When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,As she dances about in the sun."

"That orbèd maiden with white fire ladenWhom mortals call the MoonGlides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor,By the midnight breezes strewn;And wherever the beat of her unseen feetWhich only the angels hearMay have broken the woof of my tent's roof,The stars peep behind her and peer."

"My heart leaps up when I beholdA Rainbow in the sky."

It is not often that Byron strikes a chord as deep as that of the lines"In an Album:"--

"As o'er the cold, sepulchral stone,Some name arrests the passer-by."

And yet a single example I venture to give. Pushkin's "InspiringLove" and Wordsworth's "Phantom of Delight" treat of the same theme.Pushkin sees his beloved again, and after years--

"Enraptured beats again my heart,And risen are for it againBoth reverence and InspirationAnd life, and tears, and love."

"And now I see with eye serene,The very pulse of the machine."

Vous me demandez mon portrait,Mais peint d'après nature:Mon cher, il sera bientôt fait,Quoique en miniature.

Je sais un jeune polissonEncore dans les classes:Point sot, je le dis sans façonEt sans fades grimaces.

One, il ne fut de babillard,Ni docteur de SorbonnePlus ennuyeux et plus braillardQue moi-même en personne.

Ma taille à celle des plus longsElle n'est point égalée;J'ai le teint frais, les cheveux blonds,Et la tête bouclée.

J'aime et le monde, et son fracas,Je hais la solitude;J'abhorre et noises et débats,Et tant soit peu l'étude.

Spectacles, bals me plaisent fort,Et d'après ma penséeJe dirais ce que j'aime encore,Si je n'étais au lycée.

Après cela, mon cher ami,L'on peut me reconnaître:Oui! tel que le bon Dieu me fit,Je veux toujours paraître.

Vrai demon pour l'espièglerie,Vrai singe par sa mine,Beaucoup et trop d'étourderie,--Ma foi--voilà Poushkine.

With scorning laughter at a fellow writer,In a chorus the Russian scribesWith name of aristocrat me chide:Just look, if please you ... nonsense what!Court Coachman not I, nor assessor,Nor am I nobleman by cross;No academician, nor professor,I'm simply of Russia a citizen.

Well I know the times' corruption,And, surely, not gainsay it shall I:Our nobility but recent is:The more recent it, the more noble 't is.But of humbled races a chip,And, God be thanked, not aloneOf ancient Lords am scion I;Citizen I am, a citizen!

Not in cakes my grandsire traded,Not a prince was newly-baked he;Nor at church sang he in choir,Nor polished he the boots of Tsar;Was not escaped a soldier heFrom the German powdered ranks;How then aristocrat am I to be?God be thanked, I am but a citizen.

My grandsire Radsha in warlike serviceTo Alexander Nefsky was attached.The Crowned Wrathful, Fourth Ivan,His descendants in his ire had spared.About the Tsars the Pushkins moved;And more than one acquired renown,When against the Poles battling wasOf Nizhny Novgorod the citizen plain.

When treason conquered was and falsehood,And the rage of storm of war,When the Romanoffs upon the throneThe nation called by its Chart--We upon it laid our hands;The martyr's son then favored us;Time was, our race was prized,But I ... am but a citizen obscure.

Our stubborn spirit us tricks has played;Most irrepressible of his race,With Peter my sire could not get on;And for this was hung by him.Let his example a lesson be:Not contradiction loves a ruler,Not all can be Prince Dolgorukys,Happy only is the simple citizen.

My grandfather, when the rebels roseIn the palace of Peterhof,Like Munich, faithful he remainedTo the fallen Peter Third;To honor came then the Orloffs,But my sire into fortress, prison--Quiet now was our stern race,And I was born merely--citizen.

Beneath my crested sealThe roll of family charts I've kept;Not running after magnates new,My pride of blood I have subdued;I'm but an unknown singerSimply Pushkin, not Moussin,My strength is mine, not from court:I am a writer, a citizen.

A monument not hand-made I have for me erected;The path to it well-trodden will not overgrow;Risen higher has it with unbending headThan the monument of Alexander.

No! not all of me shall die! my soul in hallowed lyreShall my dust survive, and escape destruction--And famous be I shall, as long as on earth sublunarOne bard at least living shall remain.

My name will travel over the whole of Russia great,And there pronounce my name shall every living tongue:The Slav's proud scion, and the Finn, and the savage yetTungus, and the Calmuck, lover of the steppe.

And long to the nation I shall be dear:For rousing with my lyre its noble feelings.For extolling freedom in a cruel age,For calling mercy upon the fallen.

The bidding of God, O Muse, obey.Fear not insult, ask not crown:Praise and blame take with indifferenceAnd dispute not with the fool!