And yet I love it! Why, I cannot say; The endless snowy Steppes so silent brooding, In the pine forests Autumn winds pursuing-- The flood's high water on all sides in May. By peasant cart I fain would haste in nightly darkness, Through the lone wilderness and village desolate, How hospitable shines the sole beam sparkling To me from each poor hut! Filled with content so great, The smell of stubble burnt, delights. Piled high The wagons silent standing take their nightly rest, On distant hills the silver birches I descry, Framed gold by fertile fields the sacred picture blest. Then with a joy unshared save by the vagrant, I see the threshing floor well filled and fragrant, The sloping straw-thatched cottage roofs again, The window panels carved, of varied stain. Nightly could I, till morning grey arrested, Gaze on the dancing, stamping, whistling crowd, Watching the villager,--young, happy, festive-- And hearing drunken peasants glad carouse! LERMONTOFF. TO KASBEK With wingéd footsteps now I hasten Unto the far cold North away, Kasbek,--thou watchman of the East, To thee, my farewell greetings say! Since all eternity, a turban Snow white, thy glorious brow has veiled, The peace sublime about thy glacier The strife of man has ne'er assailed. Accept my humble supplication, Hear thy submissive faithful son, To starry heights lift his entreaty To Allah's everlasting throne. I do implore--spice breathing coolness Through sultry sun-glow in the vale, A stone for rest unto the pilgrim In whirling dust of desert gale. Turn, I implore, the storm's hot hatred, The deadly thunderous lightning's course-- In Dariel's wild pass protect me And my distracted, trembling horse. Yet one prayer more my heart audacious, Weeping, lifts up in bodeful stress, What if my native land forget me In my sad exile's loneliness? Will, greeting me by name familiar, My friend then open wide his arms? Will e'en my brothers recognise me, So changed by many griefs and harms? Perchance my foot will fall profaning Dust of those loved in youth's far day, The pure and noble, deeply trusted-- Withered as Autumn leaves in May. O Kasbek, then with earth o'erwhelm me! Snow o'er thy weary wanderer back, And blow away my dust and scatter Along thy rock-ridged clefts lone track! LERMONTOFF. THE ANGEL Soft singing at midnight through heaven's high blue A beautiful angel once flew; The moon and the stars and the clouds in a throng Attended his wonderful song! He sang of the bliss of those gardens and coasts Where live and exult the pure ghosts, Their songs glad extolling Almighty's grace Repeated from race unto race. In his arms he was bearing a young soul below, To leave in this world of our woe, The strains of his singing within her soul beat-- A wordless song, living and sweet! Long languished her soul in its earthly abode, With a heavenly longing o'erflowed, For ne'er were those holy, pure strains of her birth, Effaced by the songs of the earth.