Works of Alexander Pushkin (8 page)

TARTAR SONG.

I.

 Heaven visits man with days of sadness,
    Embitters oft his nights with tears;
  Blest is the Fakir who with gladness
    Views Mecca in declining years.

II.

 Blest he who sees pale Death await him
    On Danube’s ever glorious shore;
  The girls of Paradise shall greet him,
    And sorrows ne’er afflict him more.

III.

 But he more blest, O beauteous Zarem!
    Who quits the world and all its woes,
  To clasp thy charms within the harem,
    Thou lovelier than the unplucked rose!

They sing, but-where, alas! is Zarem,
Love’s star, the glory of the harem?
Pallid and sad no praise she hears,
Deaf to all sounds of joy her ears,
Downcast with grief, her youthful form
Yields like the palm tree to the storm,
Fair Zarem’s dreams of bliss are o’er,
Her loved Giray loves her no more!

He leaves thee! yet whose charms divine
Can equal, fair Grusinian! thine?
Shading thy brow, thy raven hair
Its lily fairness makes more fair;
Thine eyes of love appear more bright
Than noonday’s beam, more dark than night;
Whose voice like thine can breathe of blisses,
  Filling the heart with soft desire?
Like thine, ah! whose inflaming kisses
  Can kindle passion’s wildest fire?

Who that has felt thy twining arms
Could quit them for another’s charms?
  Yet cold, and passionless, and cruel,
Giray can thy vast love despise,
Passing the lonesome night in sighs
  Heaved for another; fiercer fuel
Burns in his heart since the fair Pole
Is placed within the chief’s control.

The young Maria recent war
Had borne in conquest from afar;
Not long her love-enkindling eyes
Had gazed upon these foreign skies;
Her aged father’s boast and pride,
She bloomed in beauty by his side;
  Each wish was granted ere expressed.
She to his heart the object dearest,
  His sole desire to see her blessed;
As when the skies from clouds are clearest,
  Still from her youthful heart to chase
Her childish sorrows his endeavour,
Hoping in after life that never
  Her woman’s duties might efface
Remembrance of her earlier hours,
  But oft that fancy would retrace
Life’s blissful spring-time decked in flowers.
  Her form a thousand charms unfolded,
  Her face by beauty’s self was moulded,
Her dark blue eyes were full of fire,--
  All nature’s stores on her were lavished;
The magic harp with soft desire,
  When touched by her, the senses ravished.
Warriors and knights had sought in vain
  Maria’s virgin heart to move,
And many a youth in secret pain
  Pined for her in despairing love.
But love she knew not, in her breast
  Tranquil it had not yet intruded,
Her days in mirth, her nights in rest,
  In her paternal halls secluded,
Passed heedless, peace her bosom’s guest.

That time is past! The Tartar’s force
  Rushed like a torrent o’er her nation,--
  Rages less fierce the conflagration
Devouring harvests in its course,--
  Poland it swept with devastation,
Involving all in equal fate,
  The villages, once mirthful, vanished,
  From their red ruins joy was banished,
The gorgeous palace desolate!
  Maria is the victor’s prize;--
Within the palace chapel laid,
Slumb’ring among th’illustrious dead,
  In recent tomb her father lies;
His ancestors repose around,
  Long freed from life and its alarms;
  With coronets and princely arms
Bedecked their monuments abound!
  A base successor now holds sway,--
Maria’s natal halls his hand
  Tyrannic rules, and strikes dismay
And wo throughout the ravaged land.

Alas! the Princess sorrow’s chalice
  Is fated to the dregs to drain,
Immured in Bakchesaria’s palace
  She sighs for liberty in vain;
  The Khan observes the maiden’s pain,
His heart is at her grief afflicted,
  His bosom strange emotions fill,
  And least of all Maria’s will
Is by the harem’s laws restricted.
  The hateful guard, of all the dread,
Learns silent to respect and fear her,
  His eye ne’er violates her bed,
Nor day nor night he ventures near her;
  To her he dares not speak rebuke,
  Nor on her cast suspecting look.
Her bath she sought by none attended,
  Except her chosen female slave,
  The Khan to her such freedom gave;
But rarely he himself offended
  By visits, the desponding fair,
Remotely lodged, none else intruded;
  It seemed as though some jewel rare,
Something unearthly were secluded,
  And careful kept untroubled there.

Within her chamber thus secure,
By virtue guarded, chaste and pure,
  The lamp of faith, incessant burning,
The VIRGIN’S image blest illumed,
  The comfort of the spirit mourning
And trust of those to sorrow doomed.
  The holy symbol’s face reflected
The rays of hope in splendour bright,
  And the rapt soul by faith directed
To regions of eternal light.
  Maria, near the VIRGIN kneeling,
In silence gave her anguish way,
  Unnoticed by the crowd unfeeling,
And whilst the rest, or sad or gay,
Wasted in idleness the day,
  The sacred image still concealing,
Before it pouring forth her prayer,
She watched with ever jealous care;
Even as our hearts to error given,
Yet lighted by a spark from heaven,
Howe’er from virtue’s paths we swerve,
One holy feeling still preserve.

Now night invests with black apparel
  Luxurious Tauride’s verdant fields,
Whilst her sweet notes from groves of laurel
  The plaintive Philomela yields.
But soon night’s glorious queen, advancing
  Through cloudless skies to the stars’ song,
  Scatters the hills and dales along,
The lustre of her rays entrancing.
  In Bakchesaria’s streets roamed free
The Tartars’ wives in garb befitting,
They like unprisoned shades were flitting
  From house to house their friends to see,
And while the evening hours away
In harmless sports or converse gay.
  The inmates of the harem slept;--
  Still was the palace, night impending
  O’er all her silent empire kept;
The eunuch guard, no more offending
  The fair ones by his presence, now
Slumbered, but fear his soul attending
  Troubled his rest and knit his brow;
Suspicion kept his fancy waking,
  And on his mind incessant preyed,
The air the slightest murmur breaking
  Assailed his ear with sounds of dread.
Now, by some noise deceitful cheated,
  Starts from his sleep the timid slave,
Listens to hear the noise repeated,
  But all is silent as the grave,
Save where the fountains softly sounding
  Break from their marble prisons free,
Or night’s sweet birds the scene surrounding
  Pour forth their notes of melody:
Long does he hearken to the strain,
Then sinks fatigued in sleep again.

Luxurious East! how soft thy nights,
  What magic through the soul they pour!
How fruitful they of fond delights
  To those who Mahomet adore!
What splendour in each house is found,
  Each garden seems enchanted ground;
  Within the harem’s precincts quiet
Beneath fair Luna’s placid ray,
  When angry feelings cease to riot
There love inspires with softer sway!

The women sleep;--but one is there
Who sleeps not; goaded by despair
Her couch she quits with dread intent,
On awful errand is she bent;
  Breathless she through the door swift flying
Passes unseen; her timid feet
Scarce touch the floor, she glides so fleet.
  In doubtful slumber restless lying
The eunuch thwarts the fair one’s path,
Ah! who can speak his bosom’s wrath?
False is the quiet sleep would throw
Around that gray and care-worn brow;
She like a spirit vanished by
Viewless, unheard as her own sigh!

The door she reaches, trembling opes,
  Enters, and looks around with awe,
What sorrows, anguish, terrors, hopes,
  Rushed through her heart at what she saw!
The image of the sacred maid,
  The Christian’s matron, reigning there,
  And cross attracted first the fair,
By the dim lamp-light scarce displayed!
  Oh! Grusinka, of earlier days
The vision burst upon thy soul,
  The tongue long silent uttered praise,
The heart throbs high, but sin’s control
  Cannot escape, ‘tis passion, passion sways!

The Princess in a maid’s repose
Slumbered, her cheek, tinged like the rose,
  By feverish thought, in beauty blooms,
And the fresh tear that stains her face
  A smile of tenderness illumes.
Thus cheers the moon fair Flora’s race,
  When by the rain opprest they lie
  The charm and grief of every eye!
It seemed as though an angel slept
  From heaven descended, who, distressed,
  Vented the feelings of his breast,
And for the harem’s inmates wept!
  Alas! poor Zarem, wretched fair,
  By anguish urged to mere despair,
  On bended knee, in tone subdued
  And melting strain, for pity sued.

 “Oh! spurn not such a suppliant’s prayer!”
  Her tones so sad, her sighs so deep,
  Startled the Princess in her sleep;
Wond’ring, she views with dread before her
  The stranger beauty, frighted hears
For mercy her soft voice implore her,
  Raises her up with trembling hand,
  And makes of her the quick demand,
  “Who speaks? in night’s still hour alone,
  Wherefore art here?”  “A wretched one,
  To thee I come,” the fair replied,
  “A suitor not to be denied;
Hope, hope alone my soul sustains;
  Long have I happiness enjoyed,
  And lived from sorrow free and care,
But now, alas! a prey to pains
  And terrors, Princess hear my prayer,
  Oh! listen, or I am destroyed!

Not here beheld I first the light,
  Far hence my native land, but yet
  Alas! I never can forget
Objects once precious to my sight;
  Well I remember towering mountains,
  Snow-ridged, replete with boiling fountains,
  Woods pervious scarce to wolf or deer,
  Nor faith, nor manners such as here;
  But, by what cruel fate o’ercome,
  How I was snatched, or when, from home
I know not,--well the heaving ocean
  Do I remember, and its roar,
But, ah! my heart such wild commotion
  As shakes it now ne’er felt before.
I in the harem’s quiet bloomed,
  Tranquil myself, waiting, alas!
With willing heart what love had doomed;
  Its secret wishes came to pass:
Giray his peaceful harem sought,
  For feats of war no longer burned,
Nor, pleased, upon its horrors thought,
  To these fair scenes again returned.

“Before the Khan with bosoms beating
  We stood, timid my eyes I raised,
When suddenly our glances meeting,
  I drank in rapture as I gazed;
He called me to him,--from that hour
We lived in bliss beyond the power
Of evil thought or wicked word,
The tongue of calumny unheard,
  Suspicion, doubt, or jealous fear,
Of weariness alike unknown,
  Princess, thou comest a captive here,
And all my joys are overthrown,
  Giray with sinful passion burns,
His soul possessed of thee alone,
  My tears and sighs the traitor spurns;
No more his former thoughts, nor feeling
  For me now cherishes Giray,
Scarce his disgust, alas! concealing,
  He from my presence hastes away.
Princess, I know the fault not thine
  That Giray loves thee, oh! then hear
  A suppliant wretch, nor spurn her prayer!

 Throughout the harem none but thou
Could rival beauties such as mine
  Nor make him violate his vow;
Yet, Princess! in thy bosom cold
  The heart to mine left thus forlorn,
The love I feel cannot be told,
  For passion, Princess, was I born.
Yield me Giray then; with these tresses
  Oft have his wandering fingers played,
My lips still glow with his caresses,
  Snatched as he sighed, and swore, and prayed,
Oaths broken now so often plighted!
Hearts mingled once now disunited!
  His treason I cannot survive;
Thou seest I weep, I bend my knee,
  Ah! if to pity thou’rt alive,
My former love restore to me.
  Reply not! thee I do not blame,
Thy beauties have bewitched Giray,
  Blinded his heart to love and fame,
Then yield him up to me, I pray,
  Or by contempt, repulse, or grief,
  Turn from thy love th’ungenerous chief!
Swear by thy faith, for what though mine
  Conform now to the Koran’s laws,
Acknowledged here within the harem,
Princess, my mother’s faith was thine,
By that faith swear to give to Zarem
  Giray unaltered, as he was!
But listen! the sad prey to scorn
  If I must live, Princess, have care,
  A dagger still doth Zarem wear,--
I near the Caucasus was born!”

She spake, then sudden disappeared,
  And left the Princess in dismay,
Who scarce knew what or why she feared;
  Such words of passion till that day
She ne’er had heard. Alas! was she
  To be the ruthless chieftain’s prey?
Vain was all hope his grasp to flee.
  Oh! God, that in some dungeon’s gloom
Remote, forgotten, she had lain,
  Or that it were her blessed doom
To ‘scape dishonour, life, and pain!
  How would Maria with delight
This world of wretchedness resign;
  Vanished of youth her visions bright,
Abandoned she to fates malign!
  Sinless she to the world was given,
And so remains, thus pure and fair,
  Her soul is called again to heaven,
And angel joys await it there!

Days passed away; Maria slept
  Peaceful, no cares disturbed her, now,--
From earth the orphan maid was swept.
  But who knew when, or where, or how?
If prey to grief or pain she fell,
If slain or heaven-struck, who can tell?
She sleeps; her loss the chieftain grieves,
And his neglected harem leaves,
  Flies from its tranquil precincts far,
And with his Tartars takes the field,
  Fierce rushes mid the din of war,
And brave the foe that does not yield,
  For mad despair hath nerved his arm,
Though in his heart is grief concealed,
  With passion’s hopeless transports warm.
His blade he swings aloft in air
  And wildly brandishes, then low
It falls, whilst he with pallid stare
  Gazes, and tears in torrents flow.

His harem by the chief deserted,
  In foreign lands he warring roved,
Long nor in wish nor thought reverted
  To scene once cherished and beloved.
His women to the eunuch’s rage
Abandoned, pined and sank in age;
The fair Grusinian now no more
Yielded her soul to passion’s power,
Her fate was with Maria’s blended,
On the same night their sorrows ended;
  Seized by mute guards the hapless fair
Into a deep abyss they threw,--
  If vast her crime, through love’s despair,
Her punishment was dreadful too!