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What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light-
A glorious company of golden streams—
Lamps of celestial ether, burning bright-
Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams?
But thou to these art as the noon to night.

Yes! as a drop of water in the sea,

All this magnificence in thee is lost:— What are ten thousand worlds compared to thee? And what am I then ?-Heaven's unnumbered host, Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed

In all the glory of sublimest thought,
Is but an atom in the balance, weighed

Against thy greatness, is a cipher brought
Against infinity! What am I then? Naught!

Naught! But the effluence of thy light divine,
Pervading worlds, hath reached my bosom too;
Yes! in my spirit doth thy spirit shine

As shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew.
Naught! but I live and on hope's pinions fly,
Eager towards thy presence; for in thee
I live and breathe, and dwell; aspiring high,
E'en to the throne of thy divinity.

I am, O God! and surely thou must be!

Thou art! directing, guiding all, thou art!
Direct my understanding then to thee;
Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart;
Though but an atom midst immensity,
Still I am something, fashioned by thy hand!
I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and earth,

On the last verge of mortal being stand,

Close to the realms where angels have their birth, Just on the boundaries of the spirit-land!

GOD.

The chain of being is complete in me;
In me is matter's last gradation lost,
And the next step is spirit-deity!

I can command the lightning, and am dust!
A monarch and a slave; a worm, a god!

Whence came I here, and how? so marvellously
Constructed and conceived? unknown! this clod
Lives surely through some higher energy;
For from itself alone it could not be !

Creator, yes! Thy wisdom and thy word
Created me! Thou source of life and good!
Thou spirit of my spirit, and my Lord!

Thy light, thy love, in their bright plenitude
Filled me with an immortal soul, to spring
Over the abyss of death, and bade it wear
The garments of eternal day, and wing

Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere,
Even to its source-to thee-its author there.

O thoughts ineffable!

O visions blest!

Though worthless our conceptions all of thee,
Yet shall thy shadowed image fill our breast,
And waft its homage to thy Deity.

God! thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar;
Thus seek thy presence-Being wise and good!
Midst thy vast works admire, obey, adore;
And when the tongue is eloquent no more,
The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude.

441

GABRIEL ROMANOWITCH DERZHAVIN.

Translated by JOHN BOWRING.

19*

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And thou hast walked about (how strange a story)!

34

And whence, then, came these goodly stones 'twas Israel's pride to raise! 361

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As down in the sunless retreats of the ocean.......

415

As I look from the isle o'er its billows of green....

233

As life's unending column pours

As ships, becalmed at eve, that lay .

240

219

As o'er the cold sepulchral stone..

A soldier of the legion lay dying in Algiers..

As yestermorn my years have flown away......

118

64

As to the distant moon...

At midnight, in his guarded tent..

At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still
A year uncalendared; for what.....

Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead....

B.

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Behold this ruin ! 't is a skull.

Between the dark and the daylight

Beyond these chilling winds and gloomy skies.

Bound upon the accursed tree

Break, break, break..

Brightest and best of the sons of the morning!.

Bright flag at yonder tapering mast!

Bright shadows of true rest! some shoots of blisse..
But who shall see the glorious day

C.

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Careless seems the great avenger; history's pages but record.................... 234
Cold in the earth, and the deep snow piled above thee
807

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Come in the evening, or come in the morning

113

Come into the garden, Maud............

110

Come, take our boy, and we will go...

174

Come to me, dearest, I'm lonely without thee..

115

Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet 't is early morn

137

Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas

310

"Courage," he cried, and pointed toward the land.
Cyriack, this three years' day, these eyes, though clear.

42

262

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Dead! one of them shot by the sea in the East

58

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Give, as the morning that flows out of heaven
Give me my scallop-shell of quiet......
"Give us a song !" the soldiers cried
Γνώθι σεαυτόν! And is this the prince.
God of the thunder! from whose cloudy seat
Go, forget me! why should sorrow
Go, leave me, priest; my soul would be

.....

Go, lovely rose .....

Grand rough old Martin Luther.....

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