Adam Bernard Mickiewicz
The mighty mountain flings its mist-veil down; With little flowers the gracious fields are bright, And from the forest colors flash to sight
The drooping, weary day night pushed aside; On Tschatir Dagh the sullen sun and low Paints phantom purple upon ancient snow;
In ruin are the spacious, splendid halls With frozen forest of white columns where The Tartar Khan his palace builded fair,
From out the mosques the pious wend their way; Muezzin voices tremble through the night; Within the sky the pallid King of Light
Give wings unto the storm, and spurs to steed, I'd move unchained as wind across the world, Sweep onward like a torrent mountain-hurled,
The flag is listless, limp. It dances not. As deep the sea breathes from a gentle breast As any bride who dreams at love's behest,
(Pilgrim) What would Great Allah with the frozen sea? Would he of icy clouds a throne carve bright,
On Juda's Cliff I love to lean and look On waves that battling beat and break with might, While farther seaward in a bland delight,
Across sea-meadows measureless I go, My wagon sinking under grass so tall The flowery petals in foam on me fall,
In Spring of love and life, My Polish Rose, You faded and forgot the joy of youth; Bright butterfly, it brushed you, then left ruth
They sleep well here whom Allah loved and kept And treasured in his vineyard fair and fine, Most lustrous of the Orient pearls that shine,
(Mirza) Pray! Pray! Let loose the bridle. Look not down! The humble horse alone has wisdom here.
Oh, thankless Crimean land! in ruin laid Are now the castles that were once your pride! Here serpents and the owls from daylight hide,
The reverent Mussulman bends low to greet You, Tschatir Dagh, Crimea's bright-masted ship! World-altar,--minaret--the place where dip
Below me half a world I see outspread; Above, blue heaven; around, peaks of snow; And yet the happy pulse of life is slow,
