George Borrow

“ Thou dost in majesty rise; grieve not though dead, O Achilles.
Soon as these words I’d said, the Shade in answer address’d me:
Talk not of death to me, in mercy, glorious Odysses,
For on the Earth’s green sod I’d rather toil as the hireling
Of some inglorious wight, and of one as poor as inglorious,
Than over all the dead in Hades reign as a Monarch;
But of my noble boy some tiding give me, I pray thee,
Whether or not he’s fam’d as a gallant leader in battle ”

“ More choice than which these fingers ne’er
Have, skilful, at my need prepar’d.
But why have charms by me employ’d,
Less luck than her’s, Medea dread,
With which her rival she destroy’d,
Great Creon’s child, then proudly fled,
When the robe bane-imbued, her gift,
Enwrapp’d the new-wed bride in flame?
But neither herb, nor root from rift
Of lone rock ta’en, are here to blame;
In every harlot’s bed lies he
Anointed with oblivion;
Ah, ah, ’tis plain he walketh free
Protected by some mightier one.
But Varus! thou shalt suffer yet! ”

“ Of the spearman tremendous, the Mars of the fight,
Thunderbolt of old Greece, she was quickly made light,
Of Achilles divine, to whom Pyrrha an heir,
The boy Neoptolemus, gladly did bear,
The destroyer of Trojans, of Grecians the shield—
Thy protection to us, Neoptolemus yield!
Who blessed doth slumber in Pythia’s green plain;
To accept this oblation of hymns from us deign,
And each peril drive far from our city benign.—
Of Thetis I sing with her locks of gold-shine. ”

“ Away, away! grim Death can blunt alone
My miseries’ point, and ne’er till life be spent
I shall the hour of dear repose have won.
O how the strife within is vehement!
Now reason wins, now madness holds the sway;
So much my ill can do, nor I prevent.
O may this soul of mine from out its clay
Fly to repose elsewhere! I’m sure to see
My last hour once; and though far, far away
The feign’d death keep, the true shall visit me. ”

“ E’en was the clamorous sound sent forth by Eacus’ grandson—
Soon as the dreadful voice was heard of Eacus’ grandson,
All their minds were amaz’d—the fair-man’d beautiful horses
Back’d with the chariots amain, such fear was awak’d in their bosoms;
Ghasted the charioteers survey’d the untameable blazes
Horribly round the brow of high, heroic Peleides
Burning, ignited by her the blue-eyed Goddess Athena
Thrice then o’er the deep trench loud shouted god-like Achilles,
Thrice were the Trojans confus’d and all their illustrious aiders ”

“ He no equal has nor consort, He the singular and lone
Has no end and no beginning, His the sceptre, might, and throne;
He’s my God and living Saviour, rock to which in need I run;
He’s my banner and my refuge, fount of weal when call’d upon;
In His hand I place my spirit at night-fall and rise of sun,
And therewith my body also; God’s my God—I fear no one.
PRAYER.
From the Arabic.
O Thou who dost know what the heart fain would hide;
Who ever art ready whate’er may betide;
In whom the distressed can hope in their woe ”

“ But when with ruin dread we raz’d the city of Priam
Fraught with the choicest prey the hero mounted his vessel,
Free from all scathe; his form nor smit from afar by the jav’lin,
Nor by the sword from near; no rare result of the combat,
For the tremendous Mars is no respecter of persons.
Scarce had I spoke when the Shade of Eacus’ swift-footed grandson
Stalk’d with huge strides away o’er the flowery grass of the meadow,
Glad at the heart that its boy was fam’d ’mongst the brave as a warrior. ”

“ With warriors gallant-hearted.
And Hvidfeld’s fame shall ne’er decay,
His gallant seamens’ never;
A worthy countryman shall they
In every Dane find ever;
When Denmark dear to us shall cry,
Like them will we grim death defy.
Our native ground shall still abound
With warriors gallant-hearted.
BIRTING.
A Fragment.
From the Ancient Danish.
It was late at evening tide,
Sinks the day-star in the wave,
When alone Orm Ungarswayne
Rode to seek his father’s grave.
Late it was at evening hour,
When the steeds to streams are led;
Let me now, said Orm the young,
Wake my father from the dead. ”

“ Poor Hafiz loves the rose, and down his soul would lay,
With joy, to win the dust its guardian’s foot below.
2.
If shedding lovers’ blood thou deem’st a matter slight,
No goodness I can plead to scare thee and affright,
O Thou, in whose black locks night’s Genius stands confest,
Whose maiden cheek displays the morning’s Master bright.
My eyes to fountains turn, down pouring on my breast,
I sink amid their waves, to swim I have no might.
O ruby lip, by thee life’s water is possest,
Thou couldst awake the dead to vigour and delight ”

“ It is the fate of mortals all
To ashes fine and dust to fall;
I’ve hope in Christ, for sins who died,
He has their souls beatified.
Now full twelve hundred years, and more,
On dusky wing have flitted o’er,
Since that high morn when Columb grey
Its wall’s foundation-stone did lay;
Images still therein remain
And death-memorials carv’d with pain;
Of good hewn stone from top to base,
It shows to Time a dauntless face. ”

“ He, through thousand ages flight,
Shall of Soudra’s doctrine solemn;
Ne’er forget one portion slight
Yes, a soul so richly gifted
Every child of man can find,
If to mighty Foutsa lifted
He but keep his heart and mind. ”

“ More fast than the gleam from the cloud that is rifted,
Down, down to a forest of beeches they flew,
And there beheld Chloe, all rapt in devotion,
Upon the ground kneeling, unable to speak;
A tear-drop, the offspring of pious emotion,
Was streaming like dew down her beautiful cheek.
Confounded, astonish’d, in ecstacy gazing,
Around her the spirits aerial stood,
Then sudden their voices tumultuously raising
Cried: Father, we’ll stay with her here in the wood!
Then frown’d the dread Father ”

“ The mighty one’s cradle, and heard has no ear
At his under-ground spring-head his infant-like cry.
How lovely art thou in the foam of thy brow,
And yet the warm blood in my bosom grows chill;
For awful art thou and terrific, I vow,
In the roar of the echoing forest and hill.
The pine-trees are shaken—they yield to thy shocks,
And crashing they tumble in wild disarray;
The rocks fly before thee—thou seizest the rocks,
And contemptuously whirlst them like pebbles away. ”

“ From that hour I have seen not her eyes’ beamy lights,
From that hour I have known no delectable nights.
On the shawl, the black shawl with distraction I gaze,
And on my poor spirit keen agony preys.
SONG.
From the Russian of Pushkin.
Hoary man, hateful man!
Gash my frame, burn my frame;
Bold I am, scoff I can
At the sword, at the flame.
Thee as hell I abhor,
And despise heartily;
I another do adore,
And for love of him die.
Gash my frame, burn my frame!—
Nothing I will tell thee;
Man of age, man of rage,
Him thou’lt ne’er know from me. ”

“ Where their place of birth might be;
He who sister dear nor brother,
Since the sun upon him shone,
And of kindred all the other
Shoots and branches ne’er has known—
If of Foutsa Grand the figure
He shall shape and colour o’er,
Gaze upon it rapt and eager,
And with fitting rites adore,
And through twenty days shall utter
The dread name with reverend fear,
Foutsa huge of form shall flutter
Round about him and appear,
And to him the spot discover,
Birth-place of his flesh and bone {14};
And though evils whelm them over,
For his sake release them soon ”

“ Not with mild words their bosoms stern
To melt, as erst, the boy sought now;
But madly reckless he began
The direst curses forth to rave:
“And do not think your sorceries can
Yourselves from retribution save:
Your curse I’ll prove; my deathless hate
By sacrifice ne’er sooth’d shall be;
But when I perish, bid by fate,
A night-ghost ye shall have in me.
With crook’d nails I’ll your faces tear,
For great is injur’d spirits might,
On your breasts seated, hard I’ll bear,
And banish sleep with ceaseless fright ”

“ How beauteous art thou, lily fair!
With thee no silver can compare:
I’ll not forget thy dress outshone
The pomp of regal Solomon.
I write the friend, I love so well,
No sounding verse his heart to swell.
The fragile flowerets of the plain
Can rival human triumphs vain. ”

“ But oh: though rebellious full often I grow
Thy bounty and kindness are not the less wide.
DEATH.
From the Arabic.
Grim Death in his shroud swatheth mortals each hour,
Yet little we reck of what’s hanging us o’er ”

“ How sculptur’d, polish’d and refin’d are they!
What elegance and majesty they bear!
What witchery lurketh in their voice and eyes;
View them but once, and whilst thou breath’st the air
Thou’lt ne’er forget the great, the good and wise. ”

“ With warriors gallant-hearted.
“No!” answer’d he, “for danger then
’Midst Denmark’s fleet we carry;
Shall it be risk’d by Danish men,
That they alive may tarry?
We’ll die, but we’ll avenge our death;
We’ll fight until our latest breath.” ”

“ Cossacks free
Warrior ones;
The world mute
Of their deeds
Hears the bruit—
Wide it speeds.
Light, I wot,
Hands they’ve not;
Down they fly
Thundringly,
Foes to crush,
E’en as rush
Down midst rocks
Eagle flocks.
Silent Don!
Azure Don!
Praise to their
Deeds so fair;
Fain our bright
Czar requite
Would each one,
Knew it might
Scarce be done—
Gave his son.
Silent Don!
Azure Don!
Sport and play,
Shine forth gay ”

“ O man, though the years of thy worldly fame are destined to be equal in number to the doves of the heaven, they shall nevertheless have an end, but whatever thou shalt do or say, which is founded on the love of wisdom and of God, shall endure for ever. ”

“ My doom, no goodness crowns the passion-madden’d wight;
Thy prayer unmeaning cease, with which thou weariest,
O Hafiz, the most High at morning and at night.
3.
O Thou, whose equal mind knows no vexation,
Who holding love in deep abomination,
On love’s divan to loiter wilt not deign,
Thy wit doth merit every commendation.
Love’s visions never will disturb his brain,
Who drinketh of the vine the sweet oblation ”

“ At the commencement of the last century, Colonel Sinclair, a Scotsman in the service of the King of Sweden, landed upon the coast of Norway, at the time war was raging between the Danish and Swedish crowns, with a band of Scots which he had levied in his native country. After committing much havoc and cruelty, the invaders were destroyed to a man in a conflict with the peasantry, who had assembled in considerable number. ”

“ From the right side they take the arrow keen,
Ne’er to its quiver to return, I ween;
The bow, the left side’s fitting ornament;
The bow, the tough and pliant bow is bent;
It yields a sound, like thunder from afar,
While flies the arrow, like a streaming star.
None now expects a tale of fabled might ”

“ That the character of a nation is best distinguishable by the general tone of its poetry, has been frequently remarked, and is a truth which does not admit of controversy; the soft songs of the Persian, and the bold and warlike ditties of the Dane are emblems of the effeminacy of the one, and the reckless heroism of the other.—In most instances the writer in the selection of pieces for this little work has been guided by a desire of exhibiting what is most characteristic of the people to whose literature it belongs. ”

“ On the mountain blaz’d the beacon;
Into lurking-holes crept not the valley’s sons,
As the Scots perchance might reckon.
“The soldiers have follow’d the King to the war,
Ourselves must arm us, brothers! ”

“ The earth and all the heavenly race!
What means this noise, why savagely
On me is turn’d each frightful face?—
By thy dear babes, if aid e’er lent
Lucine to thee in child-birth hour,
By this proud purple ornament,
By hands ne’er clasp’d to crave before,
I beg thee, Dame! thou wilt declare
Why she-wolf like thou me dost eye.”
Stript of his tests of lineage fair
He stood, who rais’d this piteous cry—
A boy, of form which might have made
The Thracian furies’ bosoms kind. ”

“ Canidia and other witches, having enticed a boy of high birth into some secret cell, proceed to bury him in the earth, up to the chin; in order that, when he has perished with hunger in that situation, his liver etc. may serve as ingredients for a draught, by administering which Canidia purposes to regain the affection of Varus, who has deserted her. ”

“ He cannot refrain from lamenting that in his literary researches he has too often found amongst the writings of those, most illustrious for their genius and imagination, the least of that which is calculated to meet the approbation of the Christian, or even of the mere Moralist ”

“ The plague is solemnly conjured to leave the country, and the speaker offers to find a suitable conveyance, namely a demon-horse summoned from one of those mountains in Norway supposed to be inhabited by evil spirits and goblins. ”

“ Perhaps no person, amongst the many individuals who have distinguished themselves by skill in the targumannic art, has more successfully surmounted this difficulty than Fairfax, the Translator into English “octave rhyme” of “The Jerusalem,” the master-piece of the greatest poet of modern Italy and, with one exception, of modern time. ”