has never been a frequently chosen means of
expression of the Slav races, despite the numerous sonnets written later
by Vrchlicky, Preseren and others. The sonnet has belonged more to the
Latin races, and to the English race. The Crimean Sonnets, however, rank
among the famous sequences.

Edna Worthley Underwood.

SONNETS FROM THE CRIMEA

THE ACKERMAN STEPPE

Across sea-meadows measureless I go,
My wagon sinking under grass so tall
The flowery petals in foam on me fall,
And blossom-isles float by I do not know.
No pathway can the deepening twilight show;
I seek the beckoning stars which sailors call,
And watch the clouds. What lies there brightening all?
The Dneister's, the steppe-ocean's evening glow!

The silence! I can hear far flight of cranes--
So far the eyes of eagle could not reach--
And bees and blossoms speaking each to each;
The serpent slipping adown grassy lanes;
From my far home if word could come to me!--
Yet none will come. On, o'er the meadow-sea!

BECALMED

The flag is listless, limp. It dances not.
As deep the sea breathes from a gentle breast
As any bride who dreams at love's behest,
And wakes and sighs, then casts with dreams her lot.
Sails hang upon the masts--useless-forgot--
Like folded standards which the warriors wrest
And bring home broken from the battle's crest.
The sailors rest them in some sheltered spot.

O Sea! within your unknown deeps concealed,
When storms are wild, your monsters dream and sleep,
And all their cruelty for the sunlight keep.
Thus, Soul of Mine, in your sad deeps concealed
The monsters sleep--when wild are storms. They start
From out some blue sky's peace to seize my heart.

MOUNTAINS FROM THE KESLOV STEPPE

(Pilgrim)

What would Great Allah with the frozen sea?
Would he of icy clouds a throne carve bright,
Or would the demons of the deepest night
A bar build where the shining stars sweep free?
It gleams like pagan cities fired, kings flee.
When Day was anciently destroyed by Night
Did Allah amid chaos fix this light
To guide the star-worlds of eternity?

(Mirza)

Up there I've journeyed where the winter reigns,
And seen the rivers bitten black like lines
On Tschatir Dagh, where the white cloud reclines,
Which not the wildest eagle's shadow stains,
Where cradled under me the thunders sleep
And Allah and the stars their watches keep.

BAKT