LERMONTOFF. A PRAYER Faithful before thee, Mother of God, now kneeling, Image miraculous and merciful--of thee Not for my soul's health nor battles waged, beseeching, Nor yet with thanks or penitence o'erwhelming me! Not for myself,--my heart with guilt o'erflowing-- Who in my home land e'er a stranger has remained, No, a sinless child upon thy mercy throwing, That thou protect her innocence unstained! Worthy the highest bliss, with happiness O bless her! Grant her a friend to stand unchanging at her side, A youth of sunshine and an old age tranquil, A spirit where together peace and hope abide. Then, when strikes the hour her way from earth for wending, Let her heart break at dawning or at dead of night-- From out thy highest heaven, thy fairest angel sending The fairest of all souls sustain in heavenward flight! LERMONTOFF. THE SAIL A single sail is bleaching brightly Upon the waves caressing bland, What seeks it in a stranger country? Why did it leave its native strand? When winds pipe high, load roar the billows And with a crashing bends the mast, It does not shun its luckless fortune, Nor haste to port before the blast. To-day the sea is clear as azure, The sun shines gaily, faint the wind-- But it revolting, looks for tempest, And dreams in storms its peace to find! LERMONTOFF. _Lermontoff, being reproached by the critics of his time for imitation of Byron in this poem, defended himself by the following, "I am not Byron!"_ I AM NOT BYRON I am not Byron--yet I am One fore-elected, yet one more Unknown, world-hunted wanderer, A Russian in my mood and mind. Scant from my seed the corn was ripe, My mouth spoke young, was early hushed; In depths of my own soul, the wreck Of hope lies as in deep-sea sunk. Who shall the counsels of the sea, Its awe sublime unloose? Who shall Read clear my spirit and my soul? Unless it be a Poet--no man! LERMONTOFF. LIKE AN EVIL SPIRIT Like an evil spirit hast thou Shocked my heart from out its rest, If thou'lt take it quite away now-- Thou wilt win my healing blest! My heart thy temple evermore! Thy face,--the altar's Godhead sign! Not heaven's grace,--thy smiles, restore, Grant absolution, joy divine! LERMONTOFF. TO A.C.S. Afar--I fain, so much would tell thee! List to thee o'er and o'er when near; Yet passioned glances thou dost silence-- My words bind to my lips in fear. How, by mere homely speaking, can I E'en hope to captivate thine ears? I swear it would be food for laughter-- If it were not more fit for tears! LERMONTOFF. A SONG Dry leaf trembling on the branches Before the blast, Poor heart quaking in the bosom For woe thou hast; Ah what matter if the wind then, Withered leaf from blooming linden Should scatter wide? Would for this the twig or branches Have wailing sighed? And should the lad his fate upbraid, Although he ignominious fade-- And in an alien country die? Will for him the beauteous maid Complaining cry?