Parerga/Vision of the Heroes of Poland
< Parerga
VISION OF THE HEROES OF POLAND.
TRANSLATED FROM ORTLEPP.
Mounting at the trumpet's callFrom their cold graves one and all,I beheld around me farPoland's mighty men of war.
At the clanging bugle's blastTroops of horse are forming fast;At the rolling of the drumThe foot around the eagle come,
Round the eagle that gleams and glowsAs the sunbeams shine on snows.The music sounds the bold "Advance,"As leading to the joyous dance.
Mighty Kosciusko towersHigh before the mustering Powers,That present the flashing steel,And glad huzzas to greet him peal.
Dripping yet with river dewPoniatowski stalks in view,Emerging into heaven's lightFrom the whelming billow's night.
A giant form its bulk uprears,Sobieski's self appears,With sword all scabbardless advancingOn the courser wildly prancing.
And where the massive clouds soar higher,Girt with quivering tongues of fireGleams a throne—and there is seenA Shape of high imperial mien.
Gazing on the martial swarms,With little hat and folded armsThere He stands, sublime alone,From that dark height looking on.
Thunderstorms beneath are tossing,Lightnings wildly intercrossing,The advent of the tempest tellingNearer still, and nearer swelling.
From rank to rank, from heart to heartA thrill of awe, a shuddering startRuns, and from each lip is heardStammer'd one great signal word.
The old Titan-spirit breaksFrom sleep, and to the strife awakes;—Before the warriors on he strides,And the sacred struggle guides.
Dawning through the misty skiesThe Pyramids' dim outlines rise,And in bright clouds crimson-taintedMoscow's grave of flame is painted.
Like a city high of heavenLeipsic to the sight is given,As the powder-smoke entomb'd it,And the flashing guns illumed it.
Now the great storm onward hurl'dBursts like the doomsday of the world;North and south the heaven streamsPurpled with bloody flickering gleams.
Hill and mountain prone subside,Yawns the earth in chasms wide,Riven in twain are tree and rock,Stop the torrents with the shock.
This is the Great Tempest's might;As yet it sleeps in deepest night,But the earth shall reel and quakeWhen its lingering terrors wake.
And when that storm itself hath tired,And that darkness hath expired,Dawning comes a brighter day,A more lovely blooming May.
And then again on orient height,Mid clouds that blush with morning's light.Girt with lambent flames is seenThat Shape of high imperial mien.
O'er him the sun its orb is raising,Round him a holy splendour blazing,And plays a smile his features o'er,So mild they never look'd before.
Kosciusko tranquillyAnd Poniatowski lowly lie,And Sobieski seeks his restIn the earth's untroubled breast.
Freedom's Goddess, mid the blazeOf the bright sun's flashing raysStands, and o'er her vibratingThe white eagle waves his wing.
Gazing on the azure skyThe nations shout in ecstacy,—While weep with joy the Polish bandIn their own free fatherland.