This site is dedicated to the memory of Dr. Alan William Smolowe who gave birth to the creation of this database.
Russian Elegiac Poet
"Providence has given human wisdom the choice between two fates: either hope and agitation, or hopelessness and calm."
"We diligently watch the world, We diligently watch the people - Wait for the wonder in their middle. And what are fruits of the long years' plots? What will, at last, discern the eyes, sharp-sighted? What will cognize the ever-lofty mind On a top of the experience and finds? … The essence of a proverb, always cited. "
"I love you, goddesses of singing, But your invasion, so fine, That tremor of the spirit thrilling, Is a herald of the future pines. The Muses' love and Fortune's striking Are one. I'm silent. I'm afraid: My fingers, casting on the light strings, Might here awake these storms and lightnings In which my sleeping fate was laid. And, with strong torments ever wound, I leave the Muse, who favours me, And say: "Till tomorrow, sounds, Let the day expire quietly." "
"Poison, we drink in love - the sweetest one, But that's the poison, what we drink, And always pay for joy, that's briefest one, With sadness of the long days' link. "The flames of love are flames of happiness", Everyone says; but what's a fact? It empties, in its fierce craziness, The every soul, it attracts! Who will be able to stifle the memories, Of days of suffering and happiness, Of your enchanting days, oh love? Then I'd return to life, to joy and fun, And put my soul before your bright one For golden dreams my youth above. "
"A bard's sweet song mends ailing constitution. The harmony's ever-mysterious reign Will compensate the cumbersome illusion And curb the sense that's passionate and strained. The poet's soul, in a verse poured out, Will be released from all her heavy pines; And holy poetry will give the world around And all its purity - to its girlfriend, at once. "
"Wise Providence gave our perception The choice between two different fates: Either blind hope and agitation, Or hopelessness and deadly rest. Let him trust to seductive hopes, Who's sure with his unpracticed mind, Who knows mocking fortunes slopes, Only through rumour, spread behind. Have hope, young people, brave and ardent! Fly with your pairs of strongest wings; For you the projects, great and sudden, And young heart's ever burning dreams! But you, who've now tried and measured All humane fate, deep grief and strife, And vanity of humane pleasure - Who doomed to knowledge of the life! Away with those crowds tempting! In quiet peace, live your days, last, And guard the coldness, safely saving Your now apathetic heart. Just like the dry dead peoples' corpses, Which blessed with senseless of disease, Waked up by spells of lords of forests, Rise from their graves, gnashing their teeth, So you, if kindle in hearts desire And trust to the deceptive moods, Will be awaked only for mire, For fresh pain of the former wounds. "
"I did not blinded with the Muse, my dear: She'll not be called the beauty, charming heart, And throngs of youths, when sought her passing here, As crazy lovers, will not run behind. She has not any wish or gift to raise desires By plays of eyes, by elegant attires, Or by the clever and sarcastic speech; But, the high world could sometimes be bewitched By singularity of whole her expression, By simple structure of her quiet phrase; And, rather than with biting alienation, It'll honour her with the negligent praise. "
"You're useless, days! The earthly world will never Change its used games! We know them all, and our future, clever, Predicts the same. And not in vain you seethed and tossed in hurry To live and grow, Before the body, you engraved your fit, so starry, My frenzied soul! And having closed long ago the narrow circuit Of worldly sense, You drowse under breathe of dreams, recurrent; But the body, else Observes the day's dawn, aimlessly supplanting Again the night, The fruitless evening, dully plunging, - The day's end, blunt. "
"When fixed his gaze upon the stone, The artist saw a nymph inside, And fire ran through vein his own - He flew to her in all his heart. But though full of strong desire, He's now overcome the spell: The chisel, piecemeal and unhurried, From his high goddess, sanctified, Removes a shell after a shell. In the sweet and vague preoccupation More than a day or a year will pass; But from the goddess of his passion, The fallen veil will not be last, Until, perceiving his desire, Under the chisel's gentle caress, And answering by a gaze of fire, Sweat Galatea brings entire The sage into a first embrace. "
"When, by sorrow inspired, The poet sings his own pine, Whose soul will be cold and tired To give not him the answer, fine? Who, greedy for the old damnation, Will dare to scoff at sadness, else? But all are cold to execration, The imitated cry's vexation, Affected wailing is a jest! The poet, stirring every soul, Has reached the suffers' mysteries, Without worm of somewhat boiling, Complaisant labored musings' tricks. In struggle with fate's severe pressure He took the measure of high strengths, And bought their rudiment expression At the price of painful hearty cramps. Therefore his image is encircled By rays of the unfading light, And, like a martyr, he is honored By people of the different kind. But your Muse, so meretricious, Which dreams to raise emphatic wishes In humane hearts by loaned pine, Is like a beggar outrageous, Who begs for contributions gracious, Keeping a child, who isn't her one. "
"Don't imitate: the gift is special here, And with its own greatness it is great; Either Doratov or the new Shakespeare - You are not liked: they hate returning, yet. The law of a bard and Israel's the same: To make the idol is the crime and shame! And when, Mickiewicz, oh, my bard, elated, I saw you by the Byron's feet - I thought: Rise, rise immediately, a priest humiliated! Rise and remember: you're yourself a god! "
"The mysterious power of harmony Will expiate a heavy delusion And tame a revolting desire."