Then went that Ninth-class Councillor, And drowned his grief in drinking; And through the vinous fumes all night That General’s girl came blinking--blinking. FOOTNOTES: [14] Titular councillor = Ninth-class (civil rank) in the Russian Table of Precedence, corresponding to rank of Captain in the Army or Lieutenant in the Navy. FROM K. P. (H.I.H. GRAND PRINCE CONSTANTINE CONSTANTINOVICH.) No! I can ne’er believe, no recollection Of life--beyond the grave we’ll bear away; That Death doth end our joy and our affliction, And shed deep sleep on our forgotten day? Can eyes, when opened there, forget their seeing? Can ears their power of hearing lose for aye? In grave’s dark night can memories of past being Be by the ransomed spirit cast away? Did Raphael there forget his great “Madonna,” What time he woke to light in realms above? Did Shakespeare ne’er recall his Hamlet’s honour? His Requiem hath Mozart ceased to love? It cannot be! Nay! all that’s good, that’s holy, We’ll live again after this life’s good-bye; And we shall _not_ forget, but, without passion, lowly, We’ll love again, merged in the Deity. _TO THE POET MAIKOF._ Thy soul entrancing lyre, Thy songs of purity, Have borne to us but notes of Good, Peace, Hope, and Charity. To please the fickle crowd, False notes thou ne’er didst sing; Nor to the passions of the mob Thy sacred freedom fling. Thou’st sung for fifty years, Crowned with immortal bay, A song to raise the soul of man And cheer his upward way. Oh, could these chords prolong To us thy legacy, With what unrivalled aims endowed Would our true poets be! FROM SHENSHIN (FET.). _A RUSSIAN SCENE._ Wondrous the picture, How homelike to me!-- Distant plain whitening, Full moon on the lea; Light--in the heaven’s high, And snow flashing bright; Sledge in the distance In its lonely flight. _TRYST._ A whisper, a gentle sigh, Trills of the nightingale; The silver flash of the brook, Asleep in the sleepy vale. The shadows and shine of night-- Shadows in endless race; The sweep of a magical change Over a sweet young face. The blush of a rose in the mist, An amber gleam on the lawn; A rush of kisses and tears-- And oh, “the Dawn! the Dawn!” FROM PLESHEEF. _SPRING._