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“Ivan le Terrible, etant dejà devenu vieux, assiégoit Novogorod. Les Boyards, le voyant affoibli, lui démandèrent s'il ne voulait pas donner le commandement de l'assaut à son fils. Sa fureur fut si grande à cette proposition, que rien ne put l'appaiser ; son fils se prosterna à ses pieds ; il le repoussa avec un coup d'une telle violence, que deux jours après le malheureux en mourut. Le père, alors au desespoir, devint indifferent à la guerre comme au pouvoir, et ne survécut que peu de mois à son fils."-- Dix Annees d'Exil, par MADAME DE STAEL.




Gieb diesen Todten mir heraus. Ich muss
Ihn wieder haben !

* Trostlose allmacht,
Die nicht einmal in Gräber ihren arm
Verlángern, eine kleine Übereilung
Mit Menschenleben nicht verbessern kann!


He sat in silence on the ground,

The old and haughty Czar ; Lonely, tho' princes girt him round,

And leaders of the war :

He had cast his jewell'd sabre,

That many a field had won,
To the earth beside his youthful dead,

His fair and first-born son.

With a robe of ermine for its bed,

Was laid that form of clay,
Where the light a stormy sunset shed,

Thro' the rich tent made way:
And a sad and solemn beauty

On the pallid face came down, Which the Lord of nations mutely watch'd,

In the dust, with his renown.

Low tones at last of wo and fear

From his full bosom broke ;

A mournful thing it was to hear

How then the proud man spoke!

The voice that thro' the combat

Had shouted far and high, Came forth in strange, dull, hollow tones,

Burden'd with


“ There is no crimson on thy cheek,

And on thy lip no breath,
I call thee, and thou dost not speak

They tell me this is death!
And fearful things are whispering

That I the deed have done-

For the honour of thy father's name,



up, my son!

"Well might I know death's hue and mien,

But on thine aspect, boy!
What, till this moment, have I seen,

Save pride and tameless joy?
Swiftest thou wert to battle,

And bravest there of all

How could I think a warrior's frame

Thus like a flower should fall ?

“ I will not bear that still, cold look

Rise up, thou fierce and free! Wake as the storm wakes! I will brook

All, save this calm, from thee! Lift brightly up, and proudly,

Once more thy kindling eyes ! Hath

my word lost its power on earth ? I say to thee, arise !

66 Didst thou not know I lov'd thee well ?

Thou didst not ! and art gone

In bitterness of soul, to dwell

Where man must dwell alone.

Come back, young fiery spirit !

If but one hour, to learn

The secrets of the folded heart,

That seem'd to thee so stern.

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