Jermak

What vision, history, bring’st thou now
To flit before my wandering eye?
In the dark night, amidst the glow
Of the pale moon, that tremblingly
Shines, Irtish takes its wilder’d way:
It whirls--it wanders--and its spray
Is scatter’d o’er the rugged shore.
Two men are there--pale--bent beneath,
Like shadows from the realm of death.
Their brows are hung their bosoms o’er:
One young--a beard, by age made white,
Reach’d to the other’s waist--they wear
A simple ornament--affright
And terror seem attendants there.
Round their steel helmets many a bird
Flapping its ominous wing is heard,
And spectres rustle in the air:
Their vestments from the wild beasts’ lair
Were brought--their breasts in flint are wrapt,
And with the rime and hoar-frost capt;
A broad knife at their girt was hung;
Beneath them two tympanas lay,
And broken, worm-worn lances: they--
They were Siberian Shamana.
I listen’d there--and thus they sung:

OLD MAN.

Yes! Irtish, rage--thy murmuring roar
Echoes our griefs--the storm that lowers
Is meet--for all our sunshine’s o’er--
Ah, woe is ours!

YOUNG MAN.

Ah! woe is ours,
And fearful is time’s threatening frown!

OLD MAN.

Thou whose proud crown, in days of old,
Three different nations shelter’d--known
To history--and by fame enroll’d,
Mother of many lands, and land
Of hoary-headed glory--thou--
Even thou, Siberia--thou must bow,
Smitten by desolation’s hand.

YOUNG MAN.

Thy people are all scatter’d now--
Scatter’d as the whirlwind drives the sand;
Thy Kutshum is departed too--
Dead--distant from his father-land.

OLD MAN.

Thy Shamana are swept away
Whose fear, whose fame had fill’d the world.
Is it for this my hair is gray,
That century-aged warriors hurl’d
Into the dust--even from their tomb
Call--loudly call on others--Come,
And rouse again Shaitana’s day?

YOUNG MAN.

Ye Gods! where was your conqueror then?

OLD MAN.

O miserable, mournful doom!
That handful of Muscovia’s men!--
O had the blasting lightning riven--
Deluge--or plague--the shame, the stain
Might have been borne--but Jermak!--Heaven!

YOUNG MAN.

O curse him now, Siberia’s hills!
Streams, vales, on him your curses be!
Night--starless night--Siberia fills--
The desolating demon he!

OLD MAN.

He came--a torch of fury lighted--
A frost, that all creation blighted!
Where’er he went his ravaging breath
Brought, like the withering pestilence, death!
And death ruled o’er our land benighted.

YOUNG MAN.

The brother of the king he slew.

OLD MAN.

With Mehmet Kul, Siberia’s pride,
I saw him struggle--and there flew
The whistling barbs on every side.
Kul from its sheathe the sabre drew,
And thus in generous rage he cried:
‘O mock not, death!--an unstain’d name
With chains--with infamy--or shame!’
Then rush’d he fiercely on the foe.
O fearful sight!--their sabres flash--
Their eyes are fire--and blow to blow
Is echoed in the horrid clash:--
Both swords are shiver’d--and they stand
Unarm’d, with upraised close-clench’d hand.
’Tis man to man, and breast to breast:
The forest glades the shock repeat,
And the earth shakes beneath their feet,
And their blood flows like rain--the best,
The bravest blood: their big hearts burst--
Their knees give way--their sinews crack--
Their flanks are broken--heat, and thirst,
And weariness:--’tis now the first--
’Tis now the second faints--th’ attack
Kindles again:--who wins?--Jermāk.
‘Mine art thou now--from this proud hour
All, all is conquer’d--all is won.’

YOUNG MAN.

Our thread of destiny is spun!
The victor’s desolating power
Has crush’d Siberia--but her sighs--
Her heavy groans----

OLD MAN.

Will ever rise.
But hear, my son!--At eventide,
In this dark solitude I trod,
And brought my offering to our God;
While sad devotion’s thoughts came o’er me,
A howling north wind by my side
Rush’d, scattering the riven leaves before me;
The hundred-winter oak trees mutter’d
Terrible sounds--the wild goat fled,
Affrighted, from his wonted bed;--
I fell:--some godlike voice thus utter’d:
‘Racha no suppliant prayer shall hear
When spreading his avenging token.
Siberia! thou his laws hast broken--
Take thy reward--his curses bear:--
Thou the white monarch’s slave shalt be,
And every day-break, every eve,
Shall fetter’d find thee--fetter’d leave;
And Jermak’s fame, and Jermak’s race,
Find an eternal resting-place,
Long as the moon its course shall keep.’
’Twas silence--and from heaven’s high doors
A thrice-repeated thunder roars,
Lost--lost in darkness drear and deep.
Oh! woe is ours----

YOUNG MAN.

O woe is ours!

Then sighing--trembling--then they rose
From the cold rock where lichen grows;
They raise their war-arms from the sand,
And wandering slowly ’long the strand,
The mist conceals them from my eye.

Thy dust, Jermāk, sleeps still and calm,
But Russia shall erect on high
Thy pyramid, and shall embalm
Thy name with flowers and poetry:
A pile of gold, which thy good spear
Won from Siberia, shall she rear!
What said I, thoughtless one!--what dream
Has passion in its sleep created?
Where is his fane?--the dust of him
Is lost--his grave unconsecrated,
Unknown:--that dust the wild-boars tread;
The savage Ostyaks there chase,
With their wing’d barbs, the timid race
Of fawns o’er the vast desert spread.
But be consoled, thou heir of fame!
The genius of the lyre is come
To sing her matins o’er thy tomb;
And many an angel guards thy name
While seated on thy ruins:--verse
Shall thus her sweetest strains rehearse;

‘Great One! who in the hoary time
Wast born--and victory led thee on--
Death stopp’d thee in thy course sublime,
And now thy very dust is gone.
Though thy forefathers sought their food
In the rude plain and wilder’d wood;
Though savage wolves escorted thee,
And fame ne’er spread thy feats abroad,
Yet still thy glory’s majesty
Endures--and thou art half a God.
From age to age--above decay,
Till lasting night time’s day shall close;
Till the proud heavens shall pass away,
And Time upon his scythe repose.’