 | The poems of Richard Henry Stoddard |  |
TARTAR SONGS.
[Yes, we are merry Cossacks]
Yes, we are merry Cossacks,
Though not the Russian breed;
But bring a steed from Ilmen,
And fatten the lean steed.
Though not the Russian breed;
But bring a steed from Ilmen,
And fatten the lean steed.
When we come back with plunder,
We are true Cossacks then:
We sleep in the arms of beauties,
My merry, merry men.
We are true Cossacks then:
We sleep in the arms of beauties,
My merry, merry men.
211
[The merry spring is here]
The merry spring is here,
Then come before it fades,
Pluck handfuls of red roses,
And kiss the lips of maids.
Then come before it fades,
Pluck handfuls of red roses,
And kiss the lips of maids.
The lips of maids in spring
Are cardamoms and cloves;
Let each fair maid come hither,
And kiss the man she loves.
Are cardamoms and cloves;
Let each fair maid come hither,
And kiss the man she loves.
[I am drunk with thy fragrant breath]
I am drunk with thy fragrant breath,
Come hither, my girl, to me;
Of all the girls that I know,
I have given my heart to thee.
Come hither, my girl, to me;
Of all the girls that I know,
I have given my heart to thee.
In the fruits of beauty around,
Thou art my peach, and my pear;
O when wilt thou lie on my breast,
From dusk till dawn, my fair?
Thou art my peach, and my pear;
O when wilt thou lie on my breast,
From dusk till dawn, my fair?
[I wandered by a river]
I wandered by a river,
And met a lady fair,
And she was busy bathing
Behind her veil of hair.
And met a lady fair,
And she was busy bathing
Behind her veil of hair.
“If I should buy, sweet idol,
Your ringlets long and rare,
Tell me the price.” She answered,
“A pearl for every hair.”
Your ringlets long and rare,
Tell me the price.” She answered,
“A pearl for every hair.”
212
[O follower of the Prophet]
O follower of the Prophet,
My heart is again on fire;
A certain man has a daughter
Who kindles my desire.
My heart is again on fire;
A certain man has a daughter
Who kindles my desire.
How shall you find the Houri?
Easy enough, d'ye see;
Before the door of her dwelling
There grows a mulberry-tree.
Easy enough, d'ye see;
Before the door of her dwelling
There grows a mulberry-tree.
[He rode from the Khora Tukhan]
He rode from the Khora Tukhan
On his nimble bay steed,
For the eyes of his mistress, Girgalla,
Forsaking his creed.
On his nimble bay steed,
For the eyes of his mistress, Girgalla,
Forsaking his creed.
He gave his broad belt to his comrade.
Why scoff you? he said.
The sheep are all killed for the wedding,
The dishes are spread.
Why scoff you? he said.
The sheep are all killed for the wedding,
The dishes are spread.
I have sat in the rains and the thunders,
Alone since she went.
I would I could sit down beside her,
Beneath the white tent!
Alone since she went.
I would I could sit down beside her,
Beneath the white tent!
When I lift to my lips the red tea-cup,
Slow sipping the tea,
I think of the lips of Girgalla,
And sigh, “Woe is me!”
Slow sipping the tea,
I think of the lips of Girgalla,
And sigh, “Woe is me!”
213
I peeped through the snowy tent curtains,
Girgalla was there:
She stood like a peacock before me,
No peacock so fair.
Girgalla was there:
She stood like a peacock before me,
No peacock so fair.
Your head on the lap of Girgalla,
Stretched out at your ease,
No cushion, you say, of swan's feathers
So soft as her knees!
Stretched out at your ease,
No cushion, you say, of swan's feathers
So soft as her knees!
[Blow, Wind, blow]
Blow, Wind, blow,And carry news of me
Away to Astrabad,
Away to my Sakina;
And soon as you have seen her
Say, “A Tartar lad
Sends this kiss to thee.”
Then, your sweet lips pressed
To her snowy breast,
Kiss her so—and so!
[My war-horse was fond of my singing]
My war-horse was fond of my singing
The free songs of yore:
But now he'll remain in the stable—
I shall ride him no more.
The free songs of yore:
But now he'll remain in the stable—
I shall ride him no more.
My Tartar girls, fair as the billows,
In the tents will remain;
They will find a new lord, and the horse
A new rider again.
In the tents will remain;
They will find a new lord, and the horse
A new rider again.
214
But my mother, dear heart, when she loses
Her rider so brave,
Will be true to the love that she bears me—
She will find a dark grave!
Her rider so brave,
Will be true to the love that she bears me—
She will find a dark grave!
[I am a white falcon, hurrah!]
I am a white falcon, hurrah!
My home is the mountains so high;
But away o'er the lands and the waters,
Wherever I please, I can fly.
My home is the mountains so high;
But away o'er the lands and the waters,
Wherever I please, I can fly.
I wander from city to city,
I dart from the wave to the cloud,
And when I am dead I shall slumber
With my own white wings for a shroud,
I dart from the wave to the cloud,
And when I am dead I shall slumber
With my own white wings for a shroud,
[I am dying of the brand]
I am dying of the brandLove has burned upon my heart;
Let me come to my death
By the girdle that you wear.
I must see you twice, or thrice,
Ere the day can depart,
Or I ask after you,
Of the birds in the air!
[Wail on, thou bleeding nightingale]
Wail on, thou bleeding nightingale,
I join my wail with thine;
Deplore thy passion for the rose,
And let me weep for mine.
I join my wail with thine;
Deplore thy passion for the rose,
And let me weep for mine.
215
Lament thy rose for seventy days,
She lives, and may reply;
But mine is dead, and I must weep,
Or break my heart, and die!
She lives, and may reply;
But mine is dead, and I must weep,
Or break my heart, and die!
[Forgive me, mother dear]
Forgive me, mother dear,
For the days of unrest
And the sleepless nights you passed
When I sucked from your breast.
For the days of unrest
And the sleepless nights you passed
When I sucked from your breast.
Dig my grave on a hill,
On the summit let it stand,
That the wind may blow my dust
To my own Tartar land.
On the summit let it stand,
That the wind may blow my dust
To my own Tartar land.
| The poems of Richard Henry Stoddard | |