And like the sun his holy visage shone. Ah, such a Tsar we never had before! We must have angered God, we must have sinned GRIGORI. I long have wished to ask, oh, holy father Thou wert, I know, at Uglitch at the time. PIMEN. Oh, I remember well: God made me see Had gathered, All the city there and I saw the murdered boy: The Tsarilsa, his mother, in a swoon O'er him had fallen; his nurse was weeping loud 66 There! there's the villain!" rang the general howl, The fleeing murderers fierce the mob pursued, And seized the friends who fain had sheltered them; Oh, wonderful!-the corpse began to stir. 66 Confess!" the people cried in furious tones; And in their terror at the hangman's axe The criminals confessed, and named Borís. GRIGORI. How old was then the murdered Tsarevitch? PIMEN. His years were seven; he would have been to-day(Ten years have passed away since then, Twelve years have passed) - he would have been thy age, And on the throne! but God saw otherwise. DIMITRI AND MARINA. (From "Boris Godunof.") MARINA. Dimitri! Is it you? nay, more, Sweet, witching voice! THE PRETENDER. How slowly dragged the hours of weary day! MARINA. The hours for me sped fast, the time was dear: I made not this appointment with thee now For I believe thou lov'st me well. But list! I am resolved to join my fate with thine, Take hold of life, and not with childish blindness, THE PRETENDER. Oh, let me for a single hour forget The labors and the dangers of my fate! Forget thou, also, that in me thou seest The tsarévitch! Marina, see in me The lover of thy choice, whom thou canst fill With rapture by a single glance of love. Oh, heed the supplication of my love, And let me tell thee all that fills my heart! MARINA. There is no time, prince! While thou loiterest here Cool grows the zealous ardor of thy men, Each hour the danger and the toil for thee Grow into greater danger, greater toil. Already doubtful rumors fly abroad; Already change treads close on heel of change. And Godunóf hastes on the ripening plan. THE PRETENDER. And who is Godunóf? Has this Borís Within his grasp thy love, my only joy? Nay, nay, now look I with indifference Upon his throne, upon his royal power. Thy love without that what were life to me, Upon the lonely steppe, in poverty, Thou, thou wert worth to me the crown of Tsar! MARINA. For shame! Let not thy soul forget Thy rank must lift thee far above all joy, Not to a youth, seething with mad desires, Did I in solemn mood bestow my hand; But to the heir of Moscow's splendid throne, The Tsar's son, saved for us by destiny. THE PRETENDER. Torture me not, Marina, loveliest! Confess not that it was my rank, not me, That thou didst choose. Marina, thou know'st not What! if oh, terrible suspicion! Say, The royal boy forgotten by the world, Then, then wouldst thou still love me? Answer me! MARINA. Dimitri, thou couldst not be else than he ! I could not love another! I do not wish to share a dead man's love, And has not ever risen from the tomb! And wouldst thou know who I am among men? 'Tis well. I will not hide it! A poor monk! Thought mighty thoughts beneath my capuchin! Among the Ukrainians, in their canvas towns! And easily deceived the fickle Poles ! To this, thou proud Marina, what say'st thou ? Why art thou silent? MARINA. Oh, the shame! the pain! THE BLACK SHAWL. LIKE a madman I gaze on a raven-black shawl: Remorse, fear, and anguish, this heart knows them all. When believing and fond, in the springtime of youth, That fair one caressed me my life! oh, 't was bright; One day I had bidden young guests, a gay crew, "With guests thou art feasting," he whisperingly said, "Ho! my charger- my charger!"- We mount, we depart, And soft pity whispered in vain at my heart. On the Greek maiden's threshold in frenzy I stood; I was faint, and the sun seemed as darkened with blood. By the maiden's low window I listen, and there The light darkened round me; then flashed my good blade On the corse of a minion in fury I danced, I remember the prayers and the red-bursting stream- The mists of the evening arose, and my slave Since then, I kiss never the maid's eyes of light, Like a madman I gaze on the raven-black shawl: CAUCASUS. BENEATH me the peaks of the Caucasus lie; My gaze from the snow-bordered cliff I am bending; I see the young torrent's first leaps toward the ocean, |