| |
| I WALK, as in a dream, | |
| Beside the sweeping stream, | |
| Wrapped in the summer midnight’s amber haze; | |
| Serene the temples stand, | |
| And sleep, on either hand, | 5 |
| The palace-fronts along the granite quays. | |
| |
| Where golden domes, remote, | |
| Above the sea-mist float, | |
| The river-arms, dividing, hurry forth; | |
| And Peter’s forest-spire, | 10 |
| A slender lance of fire, | |
| Still sparkles back the splendor of the North. | |
| |
| The pillared angel soars | |
| Above the silent shores; | |
| Dark from his rock the horseman hangs in air: | 15 |
| And down the watery line | |
| The exiled Sphinxes pine | |
| For Karnak’s morning in the mellow glare. | |
| |
| I hear, amid the hush, | |
| The restless current’s rush, | 20 |
| The Neva murmuring through his crystal zone: | |
| A voice portentous, deep, | |
| To charm a monarch’s sleep | |
| With dreams of power resistless as his own. | |
| |
| Strong from the stormy Lake, | 25 |
| Pure from the springs that break | |
| In Valdaï vales the forest’s mossy floor, | |
| Greener than beryl-stone | |
| From fir-woods vast and lone, | |
| In one full stream the braided currents pour. | 30 |
| |
| “Build up your granite piles | |
| Around my trembling isles,” | |
| I hear the River’s scornful Genius say: | |
| “Raise for eternal time | |
| Your palaces sublime, | 35 |
| And flash your golden turrets in the day! | |
| |
| “But in my waters cold | |
| A mystery I hold,— | |
| Of empires and of dynasties the fate: | |
| I bend my haughty will, | 40 |
| Unchanged, unconquered still, | |
| And smile to note your triumph: mine can wait. | |
| |
| “Your fetters I allow, | |
| As a strong man may bow | |
| His sportive neck to meet a child’s command, | 45 |
| And curb the conscious power | |
| That in one awful hour | |
| Could whelm your halls and temples where they stand. | |
| |
| “When infant Rurik first | |
| His Norseland mother nursed, | 50 |
| My willing flood the future chieftain bore: | |
| To Alexander’s fame | |
| I lent my ancient name, | |
| What time my waves ran red with Pagan gore. | |
| |
| “Then Peter came. I laughed | 55 |
| To feel his little craft | |
| Borne on my bosom round the marshy isles: | |
| His daring dream to aid, | |
| My chafing floods I laid, | |
| And saw my shores transfixed with arrowy piles. | 60 |
| |
| “I wait the far-off day | |
| When other dreams shall sway | |
| The House of Empire builded by my side,— | |
| Dreams that already soar | |
| From yonder palace-door, | 65 |
| And cast their wavering colors on my tide,— | |
| |
| “Dreams where white temples rise | |
| Below the purple skies, | |
| By waters blue, which winter never frets,— | |
| Where trees of dusky green | 70 |
| From terraced gardens lean, | |
| And shoot on high the reedy minarets. | |
| |
| “Shadows of mountain-peaks | |
| Vex my unshadowed creeks; | |
| Dark woods o’erhang my silvery birchen bowers; | 75 |
| And islands, bald and high, | |
| Break my clear round of sky, | |
| And ghostly odors blow from distant flowers. | |
| |
| “Then, ere the cold winds chase | |
| These visions from my face, | 80 |
| I see the starry phantom of a crown, | |
| Beside whose blazing gold | |
| This cheating pomp is cold, | |
| A moment hover, as the veil drops down. | |
| |
| “Build on! That day shall see | 85 |
| My streams forever free. | |
| Swift as the wind, and silent as the snow, | |
| The frost shall split each wall: | |
| Your domes shall crack and fall: | |
| My bolts of ice shall strike your barriers low!” | 90 |
| |
| On palace, temple, spire, | |
| The morn’s descending fire | |
| In thousand sparkles o’er the city fell: | |
| Life’s rising murmur drowned | |
| The Neva where he wound | 95 |
| Between his isles: he keeps his secret well. | |
| |
