Poets and Poetry of Poland: A Collection of Polish Verse, Including a Short Account of the History of Polish Poetry, with Sixty Biographical Sketches of Poland's Poets and Specimens of Their Composition, Translated Into the English Language (Google eBook)
Knight & Leonard, Printers, 1881 - English poetry - 464 pages
What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Adam Mickiewicz bard beautiful Beethoven bless born bosom breast breath bright charms compositions Cracow dark dear death distinguished dream Duchy of Warsaw e'en earth epoch eyes fame father fear feeling flowers friends fugitive verses Galicia genius glory grief hand happy hast heart heaven Heidenric hetman inaczej King Kochanowski Krasicki Krasinski Krzemieniec land language Lemberg Leszno life's light literary Lithuania lived lyric maid maiden Mickiewicz mind Mindowe mother Music native neath never Niemcewicz noble o'er Paris Podolia poem poetic poetry Poland Poles Polish language Polish literature Polish nation Polish poets Posen praise pray prayer published rose satires sighs Sigismund Sigismund Krasinski sing sleep smile song sorrow soul spirit Stanislaus star sweet tears thee thine thou thought translated truth Twas Ukraine verse Vistula voice Volhynia Warsaw weary Wieslaw Wilno wrote young youth
Page 226 - And now I'm in the world alone, Upon the wide, wide sea : But why should I for others groan, When none will sigh for me ? Perchance my dog will whine in vain, Till fed by stranger hands ; But long ere I come back again He'd tear me where he stands. 10 With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go Athwart the foaming brine : Nor care what land thou bear'st me to, So not again to mine. Welcome, welcome, ye dark-blue waves ! And when you fail my sight, Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves ! My native Land — Good...
Page 222 - A few short hours, and he will rise To give the morrow birth; And I shall hail the main and skies, But not my mother earth. Deserted is my own good hall, Its hearth is desolate; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall, My dog howls at the gate. »Come hither, hither, my little page: Why dost thou weep and wail? Or dost thou dread the billows' rage, Or tremble at the gale?
Page 157 - A brave man struggling in the storms of fate, And greatly falling with a falling state. While Cato gives his little senate laws, What bosom beats not in his country's cause ? Who sees him act, but envies every deed ? Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed?
Page 218 - Across the dark and muttering skies, And leaves a gloomy track. His hoofs are shod with lightning's glare; I give the winds his flowing mane, And spur him smoking o'er the plain ; And none from earth or heaven dare My path to chase in vain. And as my barb like lightning flies, I gaze upon the moonlit skies, And see the stars with golden eyes Look down upon the plain. JS MILL. ' .lull.. Ihc - : S'n.vt .V . wliivh v- t:-'..l rre*f.-aturjs of his l:fi — i r''ci.ti-Jil are the j':-:: ' ;•.: '. in.jki'ijj...
Page 45 - WOULD thou hadst ne'er been born — or being born Hadst left me not, sweet infant ! thus forlorn : I have paid lasting woe for fleeting bliss — A dark farewell, a speechless pang like this : Thou wert the brightest, fairest dream of sleep ; And as the miser cherishes his heap Of gold, I held thee : soon 'twas fled — and nought Left but the dreary vacancies of thought, That once was blessedness. — And thou art fled, Whose fairy vision floated in my head And play'd around my heart. — And thou...
Page 170 - Then did fierce agony my bosom gnaw, Then burning tears of conscious guilt were shed : And I implored forgiveness — from my king, — Forgiveness for a vile and outcast thing. " I told my penitent tale. My foes had wrought Upon the Czar, and roused him to distrust. He met indignantly my honest thought, Dash'd my awakening virtue to the dust ; Bid them tear out my eyes, and bind me here In galling fetters to this dungeon drear. " Ten years have pass'd ; and yet I live. The sun And the gay stars...
Page 45 - twas fled — and nought Left but the dreary vacancies of thought, That once was blessedness. — And thou art fled, Whose fairy vision floated in my head And play'd around my heart. — And thou art gone, Gone with my joys; and I am left alone: Half of my soul took flight with thee, the rest Clings to thy broken shadow in my breast. Come raise her tombstone, sculptor ! Let there be This simple offering to her memory, — " Her father's love;— his Ursula lies here, His love ; — Alas ! his tears,...
Page 148 - Father, grant me a divorce. Nay, you'll grant it me, of course; Reasons many can be given — Reasons both of earth and heaven." " I know all you wish to say. Have you wherewithal to pay? Money is a thing, of course — Money may obtain divorce.
Page 201 - While we live she is existing, Poland is not fallen; We'll win with swords resisting, What the foe has stolen. March, march, Dombrowski, From Italy's plain; Our brethren shall meet us In Poland again! We'll cross where Warta's surging Gloomily its waters, With each blade from sheath emerging Poland's foes to slaughter! March, march, etc. Hence unto the field of glory, Where the life's blood's streaming; Where with talons red and gory, Poland's eagle's screaming!
Page 165 - With my wounded commander* compelled to depart From thee, oppressed Poland, the pride of my heart; An asylum I sought o'er the dark rolling sea, In the land of the noble, the brave and the free ; But e'en there the sad thought of my country would rise, And the tears of deep anguish would roll from my eyes.