onour of their school. On many of these occasions Pushkin contributed
to the due celebration of the event by producing poems of various
lengths, and different degrees of merit; we give here the best of these.
It was written during the poet's residence in the government of Pskoff,
and will be found, we think, a most beautiful and touching embodiment of
such feelings as would be suggested in the mind of one obliged to be
absent from a ceremony of the nature in question. Of the comrades whose
names Pushkin has immortalized in these lines, it is only necessary to
specify that the first, Korsakoff, distinguished among his youthful
comrades for his musical talents, met with an early death in Italy; a
circumstance to which the poet has touchingly alluded. Matiushkin is now
an admiral of distinction, and is commanding the Russian squadron in the
Black Sea. Of the two whom he mentions as having passed the anniversary
described in this poem (October 19, 1825) in his company, the first was
Pustchin, since dead, and the second the Prince Gortchakoff, whom he met
by accident, travelling in the neighbourhood of his (the poet's)
seclusion. Our readers cannot fail, we think, to be struck with the
beautiful passage consecrated to his friendship with Delvig; and the
only other personal allusion which seems to stand in need of
explanation, is that indicated by the name Wilhelm, towards the end of
the poem. This is the Christian name of his friend Kuechelbecher, since
dead, and whose family name was hardly harmonious enough to enter
Pushkin's line, and was therefore omitted on the Horatian
principle--"versu quod dicere nolim." We now hasten to present the
lines.

OCTOBER 19, 1825.

The woods have doff'd their garb of purply gold;
The faded fields with silver frost are steaming;
Through the pale clouds the sun, reluctant gleaming,
Behind the circling hills his disk hath roll'd.
Blaze brightly, hearth! my cell is dark and lonely:
And thou, O Wine, thou friend of Autumn chill,
Pour through my heart a joyous glow--if only
One moment's brief forgetfulness of ill!

Ay, I am very sad; no friend is here
With whom to pledge a long unlooked-for meeting,
To press his hand in eagerness of greeting,
And wish him life and joy for many a year.
I drink alone; and Fancy's spells awaken--
With a vain industry--the voice of friends:
No well-known footstep strikes mine ear forsaken,
No well-beloved fac