A lily hand, in parting’s silent woe,
  Gave thee to me in morning’s twilight shade;
Instead of blood, I saw thee first be-dewed
  With sorrow’s tear-pearls flowing o’er thy blade.

Two dusky eyes so true and pure of soul,
  Mute in the throe of love’s mysterious pain—­
Like thine own steel within the fire’s glow,
  Flashed forth to me—­then faded dull again.

For a soul-pledge thou wert by love appointed,
  In my life’s night to guide me to my end;
Stedfast and true my heart shall be forever,
  Like thee, like thee, my steely hearted friend!

Lermontoff.

DON’T GIVE ME THE WINE!

Don’t give me the wine! 
                              I am drunk of my love,
With the force of my passion for you! 
Don’t give me the wine! 
                              Or my tongue will betray
All the love no one dreamed hitherto;
For wine will reveal all I hid in my breast,
All the bitter hot tears that were mine,
My thirst, without hope, for a future so blest—­
I am drunk of my love,—­don’t give me the wine!

You promise me roses now, if I will drink
But one drop of the wine;—­if you please
Give only one breath from the rose of your lips! 
And death’s cup I will drain to the lees. 
All passions are raging at once in my blood,
Know my frenzy!  Love’s madness is mine. 
You seem for my suffering only to wish—­
I am drunk of my love! 
                              Don’t give me the wine!

From the Georgian of Prince Tschawtschawadze.

THE DELIBASH

With the hostile camp in skirmish
     Our men once were changing shot,
Pranced the Delibash his charger
   ’Fore our ranks of Cossacks hot.

Trifle not with free-born Cossacks! 
   Nor too o’er foolhardy be! 
Thy mad mood thou wilt atone for—­
   On his pike he’ll skewer thee!

’Ware friend Cossack!  Or at full bound,
   Off thy head, at lightning speed
With his scimitar he’ll sever
   From thy trunk!  He will indeed!

What confusion!  What a roaring! 
   Halt! thou devil’s pack, have care! 
On the pike is lanced the horseman—­
   Headless stands the Cossack there!

Pushkin.

Delibash is the Turkish synonym for Hotspur.

TO THE DON

Through the Steppes, see there he glances! 
     Silent flood glad hailed by me,—­
Thy far distant sons do proffer
   Through me, greeting fond to thee!

Every stream knows thee as brother,
   Don, thou river boasted wide! 
The Araxes and Euphrates
   Send thee greeting as they glide.

Fresh and strengthened for pursuing,
   Scenting home within thy gleam—­
Drink again the Don’ish horses,
   Flowing boundary, of thy stream!