Thy absence fills my soul with anguish,
Beloved one! hopeless of relief
I count the mournful hours in grief,
My heart for thee doth ceaseless languish,--
Thou canst not think how sweet thou art!
TO MARY.
Vainly, Mary, dost thou pray me
Heedless of thy charms to live,
If thou'dst have me, fair, obey thee,
Thou another heart must give.
One with stern indifference steeling,
That could know thee and be free,
One that all thy virtues feeling,
Could exist removed from thee.
That in which thine image blooming,
Holds an empire all its own,
Which, though thou to grief art dooming,
Lives, fair maid, in thee alone;
Every thought to thee addresses,
Filled by thee with visions bright,
Even 'midst sorrows, pains, distresses,
Thou'rt its comfort, hope, delight.
I be faithless! love avowing,
To thee first I bent my knee,
Even with soul thy looks endowing,
First I knew _it_ knowing _thee_.
Yes, my soul to thee returning,
Thine own gift do I restore,
Thou the offering proudly spurning,
I its charm can know no more.
Do not bid me, hope resigning,
My fond vows of love to cease,
How can I, in silence pining,
Cruel fair one, mar thy peace?
N O T E.
Of the following translation of Derjavin's Ode to God, universally
esteemed as one of the sublimest effusions of the Russian Muse, I beg
leave to say that my aim has been to render it into English as literally
as the genius of our language would admit, without adding or suppressing a
single thought, or amplifying a single expression, to accomplish which
metrically would of course be impossible.
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