,
Dulness, pride, and slavery;
Skyey vault of pale-green tender,
Cold, and granite, and _ennui_!
With a pang, I say adieu t'ye
With a pang, though slight--for there
Trips the foot of _one_ young beauty,
Waves _one_ tress of golden hair.

* * * * *

In the short and rapid sketch of Pushkin's life and writings which will
be found prefixed to this selection, we made particular mention of the
strong impression produced upon the Russian public by the appearance of
the noble lines addressed to the _Sea_. We beg to subjoin a translation
of this short but vigorous poem, which has become classical in the
author's country; an honour it certainly deserves, not only from the
simple grace and energy of the language, but from the weight, dignity,
and verity of the thoughts. The lines were written by the poet on his
quitting the shores of the Caspian, where he had so long dwelt in
solitude, gathering inspiration from the sublime Nature by which he was
surrounded; and the poem cannot but be considered as a worthy outpouring
of the feelings which a long communion with that Nature was so capable
of communicating to a mind like that of Pushkin. Of the two great men
whose recent death was naturally recalled to the poet's recollection by
the view of the ocean, the name of one--Napoleon--is specifically
mentioned; that of the other is--Byron. Seldom, in the prosecution of
his difficult but not ungrateful task, has the translator felt the
imperfection of his art, or the arduous nature of its object, more
keenly than when attempting to give something like an adequate version
of the eleventh and twelfth stanzas of this majestic composition. In
order to give some idea of the fidelity of his imitation, we will
subjoin the literal English of these eight lines:--

He vanish'd, wept by liberty,
Leaving to the world his crown.
Roar, swell with storm-weather;
He was, O sea, thy bard!
Thine image was stamp'd upon him,
He was created in thy spirit;
Like thee, mighty, deep, and gloomy,
Like thee, untameable!

TO THE SEA.

Farewell, free sky, and thou, O Ocean!
For the last time, before my sight
Roll thy blue waves in ceaseless motion,
And shine with a triumphant light!

Like friend's farewell in parting hour,
And mournful as his whisper'd word,
Thy solemn roar--that voice of power--
Now for the last time I have heard.

Bound of my spirit's aspiration!
Ho