John Damaskin.
By Count Alexis Tolstoy.
Translated by P. Leonov.
I bless ye woods, with verdure streaming,
Ye dells, fields, hills, and waters free,
And thee I bless, O Liberty,
And thee, O sky, with azure gleaming.
My staff so trusty bless I, fetching,
And this, my bag, companion true,
This field from end to end outstretching,
The sun's bright beam, the night's dark hue;
This lonely path, which now I'm treading,
A beggar, coming from afar,
Each blade of grass, in fields outspreading,
And in the sky each twinkling star.
Oh, if within myself enfolding
All life, my soul I merged with you,
O friends, in warm embraces holding,—
And foes, e'en mischievous and scolding,—
And all of Nature with you, too!
By N. A. Nekrasov.
Rendered into English Verse by Alice Stone Blackwell.
'Tis sultry! Deprived of all freedom,
Our sad life flows darkly and dull.
Oh, would that a storm would burst o'er it,
For the cup of our patience is full!
Burst o'er the abyss of the ocean,
And through fields and forests be hurled,
And spill, from the brim to the bottom,
The cup of the woe of the world!
