Catherine (Svetlana)

St. Silvester’s evening hour
Calls the maidens round:
Shoes to throw behind the door,
Delve the snowy ground.
Peep behind the window there,
Burning wax to pour;
And the corn for chanticleer
Reckon three times o’er.
In the water-fountain fling
Solemnly the golden ring,
Earrings too of gold;
Kerchief white must cover them
While we are chanting over them
Magic songs of old.

Feebly through the vapours shine
Moonbeams on the hill;
Silently sat Catherine,
Sorrowful and still.
‘Maiden, why so pensive? we
Fain thy voice would hear--
Come and join our revelry!
Take the ring, thou dear!
Sing ‘Make haste and melt, and bring,
‘Goldsmith! come with golden ring,
‘Golden wreath for Kate!
‘Ring to deck her hand of snow,
‘Wreath to bloom upon her brow
‘At the altar-gate.’

I can sing no choral song
While my love’s away;
For my days are sad and long,
Gloomier every day.
Left alone--a year is past--
Not a line to send--
O my life is but a waste,
Sever’d from my friend!
Hast thou then forgotten me?
Tell me, wanderer! can it be?
Where’s thy dwelling--where?
See, I pine ’neath secret smart:
Guardian angel! watch my heart--
Listen to my prayer!

Cover’d with a napkin white,
Stood a table there;
Where a mirror, clear and bright,
Shone amidst the glare.
Vacant seats for two were placed--
‘Look within, O look!
’Tis the hour of spirits--haste!
Read Fate’s opening book:
To the mirror turn thy eye,
And the door shall silently
Open--List! ’tis he!
Gently shall thy lover glide,
Seat him by his maiden’s side,
And shall sup with thee.’

Cath’rine sat before the glass--
All alone was she,
Watching all the shades that pass,
Shuddering inwardly.
But the glass is dark and drear,
Still as death the room;
Scarce a fading taper there
Flitted midst the gloom.
O how fear her bosom shook!
Backwards then she dared not look!
Dread had dimm’d her sight:
And the dying tapers’ noise,
And the cricket’s chirping voice,
Cried--’tis middle-night!

Breathless terror chill’d her o’er,
And she shades her brow:--
List! a knock is at the door,
And it opens now:
To the mirror then she turn’d,
Stupefied with fear;
Their two brilliant eyeballs burn’d,
Ever bent on her.
Horror heaved her breast, when lo!
Gentle accents, sweet and slow,
Glided on her ear:
‘All thy wishes are fulfill’d--
All thy spirit’s sighs be still’d--
’Tis thy lover, dear!’

Cath’rine look’d--her lover’s arms
Were around her thrown:
‘Maiden! banish all alarms,
We are ever one!
Come! the priest is waiting now,
Life with life to blend;
Torches in the chapel glow,
Bridal songs ascend.’
Cath’rine smiled--her lover led--
O’er the snow-clad court they sped,
And the portals gain;
There a ready sledge they found--
Two fleet coursers stamp the ground,
Struggling with the rein.

Onwards! like the winds they go,
When the storm awakes;
Scattering round them clouds of snow,
While the pathway shakes.
All was dark and wild as night,
Terrible, and new:
Mist-wreaths dimm’d the pale moon’s light,
Plains were drench’d in dew.
Fear again possess’d the maid,
And in gentlest tones she said,
‘Speak--my lover true!’
He was silent then--but soon
Turn’d him to the wintry moon,--
Pale and paler grew.

Through the snow--a mountain’s height--
Next the wild steeds pass’d;
And a church appear’d in sight,
’Midst a gloomy waste:
Then a whirlwind burst the door--
Men are there who mourn;
Clouds of incense rolling o’er,
Waxen tapers burn.
Lo! a black sepulchral shroud--
‘Dust to dust!’ the priest aloud
Chants--the horses flew
Tow’rds the door--her agony
Rose--he spoke no word--but he
Pale and paler grew.

Clouds of snow ascend again--
Lo! the coursers fly;
And a raven on the plain
Croaks, and passes by;
’Twas an awful, ominous sound!
And the moonlight wanes;
Darkness wraps the desert round
O’er the steaming manes.
See! a glimmering light is there,
And upon the heather bare
Stands a humble shed.
Swifter--swifter flew the car,
Whirl’d the snow around it far,
But no farther sped.

At the door they stopp’d anon,
There--a moment stood:--
Steeds--sledge--bridegroom--all are gone:
All is solitude.
Catherine on the waste was left,
Midst dense clouds of snow;
Of her lover now bereft,
To commune with woe:
But she hears a footstep now,
Turns, and sees a taper glow;
Crosses her, and stalks
Trembling to the door--and knocks:--
Of itself the door unlocks--
In the maiden walks.

There, upon a winding sheet,
Lay a mortal bier;
Christ’s bright image at its feet
Shone resplendent there.
Whither--whither art thou come,
Maiden, all unblest?
Thou hast sought a wretched home,
Art a hapless guest!
Catherine to the image flies,
Wipes the snow-dust from her eyes,
Bends her down and weeps;
Presses to her breast the cross--
Thoughts of heaven her soul engross,
And she silence keeps.

All is still!--The storm is hush’d,
Faint the tapers beam,
Light across the chamber rush’d--
Momentary gleam:--
All is wrapt in silence deep
As when visions come.
List! what gentle rustlings sweep
Through the hallow’d room:
Lo! a dove of silvery white,
Soft and still, with eyes of light,
Tow’rds the mourner springs:
For a moment hovers there,
Then upon her bosom fair
Flaps his beauteous wings.

Silence reign’d again.--Can all,
All illusion be?
Lo! the corpse beneath the pall
Shudders fearfully:
Bursts the mantling bier of death,
Throws his shroudings by:
On his brow he wore a wreath,
Frozen was his eye:
From his lips a murmur breaks,
With his hand a sign he makes,
Pointing to the maid:
Trembling she--she dared not move--
But the bright and silver dove
On her bosom play’d.

Fann’d her with its gentle wing:--
To the dead man’s breast
Then she saw her sweet dove spring--
There it seem’d to rest.
Heaved that icy corpse a sigh,
As in dark despair,
Gnash’d his teeth in agony,
Turn’d his eyes on her.
Paler wax’d those lips so pale;
And the fix’d eye told the tale
That life’s film was broke.
Catherine! lift thy drooping head!
All is o’er--thy lover’s dead!--
God!----and she awoke.

Where?--within the self-same room
Where the mirror stood:--
Morn was chasing twilight’s gloom
With its golden flood;
Chanticleer had flapp’d his wings,
Sung his early song:
All is bright--the matin rings--
O thy dream was long!
Long indeed, and dreadful too;
And my spirit long shall rue
The dread prophecy!
Tell me, Future’s misty night,
Shall my fate be dark or bright,
Bliss or misery?

Catherine in the window sat,
Sorrowful and still:
Tell me--tell me what is that?
Mist-cloud on the hill?
In the sunbeams shines the snow;
Leaps the frozen dew:
List! I hear the bells below,
And the horses too.
Lo! they come--the sledge is near--
Now the Isvoshchik’s voice I hear--
They have pass’d the grove:--
Fling the gates wide open--fling--
Who’s the guest the coursers bring?
Who?--’Tis thou, my love!

Catherine, tell me now! The dream--
Is the dream forgot?
Youths may faithful be--who seem
Faithless--may they not?
When the light of love hath lent
Brightness to his eye;
When his lips are eloquent;--
Timid maid! reply!
Open now the temple-gate,
Spring on wings of joy elate,
Truth, we honour thee!
Pour the glass, and join the hymn,
Ne’er may days of darkness dim
Youth’s fidelity.

Thou dost smile, sweet maid! but deem,
Deem it worth a thought;
For that memorable dream
Stores of wisdom brought.
Thou dost smile again--but know,
It had lessons holy:
Fame, it told thee, was but--show;
Worldly wisdom--folly.
This my song was meant to say,
Hope and trust, should guide our way--
Maid! there’s no mistaking:
This the genuine moral seems,
Miseries--are only dreams,
Joy--is the awaking.

O my Cath’rine! never dwell
On that dream of gloom;
Heaven! build up her citadel,
There may grief ne’er come;
Not a cloud her joys o’ershade,
Not a joy decay;
Holy is that gentle maid
As the light of day.
Ne’er be it obscur’d by woe,
Let her days of comfort flow
Like a forest river;
And let joy, with smiles serene,
Be as it hath ever been,
Her bright guide for ever.