Leszko The Bastard Tale Of Polish Grief 1877
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II
SZKC 1495! Jtes
A TALE OF POLISH GRIEF
TIN
LIBRARY I
UNIVERSITY
OF
LESZKO THE BASTARD.
POETICAL WORKS, BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
THE HUMAN TRAGEDY.
Crown
Svo.
los. 6
THE TOWER OF BABEL.
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Svo.
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THE GOLDEN
AGE.
THE SEASON
A SATIRE.
:
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WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS, EDINBURGH AND LONDON.
LESZKO THE BASTARD Mt
at
$dis&
rwf.
BY
ALFRED
AUSTIN
LONDON
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 1877.
:
193,
PICCADILLY.
LONDON BRADBURY, AGNEW,
&
CO.,
:
PRINTERS, \\HITEFRIAKS.
LOAN STACK
TO
THE MOST EMINENT PHILANTHROPIST OF HIS AGE, Cljte -Poem t$ Utfcwatrtf
WITH PROFOUND HOMAGE IN
THAT
IT
MAY ENGAGE
;
THE EARNEST HOPE HIS SYMPATHY,
AND SECURE
HIS ZEAL,
FOR THE MOST OPPRESSED OF SCLAVONIC COMMUNITIES,
AND THE MOST PERSECUTED OF CHRISTIAN NATIONS.
yune
if)tfi,
1877.
685
LESZKO THE BASTARD, 0f
WHY
do
To
Why
bid the rising gale
I
waft hail
The
olisl
me
I,
from your shore
as the vultures hail,
scent of far-off gore
Why wear
I
And
I
fain
That
am vowed
gear,
to Christ that died,
would staunch the gaping side
felt
And why
?
with defiant pride
The Paynim's badge and Though
?
the sceptic spear
doth one in
whom
?
there runs
Lcszko the Bastard.
The
blood of Sclavic sires and sons,
In those but find a
foe,
That onward march with sword and
To
vindicate the Sclavic name,
From the
To
fringe of Arctic snows,
the cradle of the rose,
Where Strange
the Sweet Waters flow
Lagged
and Tartar
far
I
Then
splinters
if I,
fly,
behind the van.
While the wind Listen
?
But 'twere stranger yet
!
When Turk
"
flame,
dallies with
and you marvel,
shall
if
hear
you can
Nothing but snow
!
A
my my
sail,
tale
;
!
white waste world,
Far as eye reached, or voice could
call
!
A Motion within
The
Now
earth
Talc of Polish Grief.
itself slept furled
;
was dead, and Heaven
its pall
!
nothing lived except the wind,
That, moaning round with restless mind,
Seemed
like uncoffined
O'er vacant
Some Nothing
No
it
to
My My
no near, no high, no low
to stop the
the latch, and
of
snow
shivered
I
!
!
tall,
and
and the
!
!
in
;
mother stood by the larch-log
the shapely head
And
it.
wandering glance
mother, stately, and
With
might find
break the white expanse
One smooth monotony J lifted
flit
kindred thing to speak with
far,
Nothing
tracts, that
ghost to
blaze,
thin,
soft
white skin,
the sweetly-sorrowing gaze. B 2
Lcszko the Bastard.
She was younger than
you, aye, you
who
In matron prime by your household
A
in a
happy wife
And
with
all
happy
stand
fire,
land,
your heart's desire.
But though bred,
like
you, from the proud
and
brave,
Her hair was blanched and her If
you knew what
And
"
it is
to be born a slave,
to feel a despot's ire
!
She turned her round from the hearth That hath waited
1
voice was grave.
Come
hither,
and
long,
sit
and
by me,
like
one
said,
my
son
!
For somehow to-night doth remembrance run Back
to the days that are dead.
And you
are
tall
and stalwart now,
A And
coming manhood
shadow
Its
Sit
Tale of Polish Grief.
by me
o'er
your brow
'gins to shed. '
close
and as
!
Close, close as
I
I
could
sate
sit,
She took my hand and placed
On
hers,
Then with
My
and fondled
wind-tossed locks apart,
my
bared temples, hushed
flow of love that else had gushed,
Love-loosened, from
"
'
Listen
Here
You
it.
the same soft palm she brushed
And, kissing
The
it flat
!
my
heart.
you often have questioned why
'neath this pale Siberian sky,
scarcely live,
That we
I
slowly die.
dwell on, but exiles here,
Lcszko the Bastard.
In regions barren, sunless, drear,
And To
have no more the power
to fly
brighter lands and bluer sky,
Than some poor
whom
bird
man's caprice
Hath tethered by a clanking
chain,
And
pain
To
leaves upon
pine
its
perch
for, ne'er to find release,
This do you know, and Since
The Even
Or
first I
how
my
could
links
Tale steeped tale of
have known
taught your mouth to frame
boyhood's,
That
A
still
syllables of Poland's
before
Ikit
in
me
name,
own. I
to childhood's ears,
tell
the tale of tears
with the bygone years
in rapture,
wrong, and
?
drenched with woe r loss,
and
love,
A
Tale of Polish Grief.
That opens
And
A
ends
tale
in
in
the heavens above,
worse than
hell
below
?
only could impart
I
To mind
mature and full-grown heart
A
fill
tale to
With
And
And
your larger
overflowing bitterness,
set
you with yourself
Of manhood Your temples
it
at strife
?
The down
now.
fringes lip
and cheek
;
take a richer brown,
on your forehead buds the crown
Of kingly thought Listen
Of
life
hissing waters of distress
But you must hear
And
;
!
all I
and
let
utter
Upon your
no
fall
that yet will speak.
faintest
unheard
ear or heart
!
word
Lcszko the Bastard.
8
'Twill wring your youth, but nerve
And what
have
now
I
But unveil tyranny
"
'
So
you
The same
!
lavish locks,
limbs, like yours,
Yet supple
For
Or
as the
blue eye, high,
!
were straight and strong,
bough
in
bud
;
tyrants cannot tame the blood,
noble lineage
Its heritage of
And maybe And
?
same forehead
But of a manlier majesty His
lose,
In every
through wrong
hardihood.
since his years
partly that filial
:
to view,
the avenging dart
Same
too
left to do,
And wing
like to
it
were more,
you needs must bear
vein and pore
A With
Tale of Polish Grief.
his pure strain the base alloy
Of that
in
Though you
you which are
Yet he was In days that
When And To
A
tall
taller,
my
live in song,
felt
Poland's heel,
Poland's horsemen, cased in
steel,
Volo's plain were wont to throng,
And vowed, uphold
As His
!
comelier.
hundred thousand manes
To
share,
and comely, boy
now but
Rurik's hinds
is
it
if
on
Heaven
let fall
were there
H aught of mien
the sky,
their lance's length
'twere a silken canopy
sires
in strength,
;
in gallant trim,
and hard of limb-
Visors up and foreheads gashed,
Swords that poised, and swooped, and
flashed,
io
Lcszko the Bastard.
Like the wings of the flaming Cherubim
And when
Imperial vultures tore
\Yith banded beaks Sarmatia's breast,
And wallowed
in Sarmatia's gore,
His fathers by
their fathers
Ne'er to recede nor Till they
rest,
had pushed the watchful points
Of vengeance
Of armour Of
swore
in
between the
joints
dear to tyrants pricked
conscience never hushed nor tricked,
And made them
Vow
feel
what they
inflict.
sternly kept, but kept in vain
For ninety hoping, hopeless
!
years,
Poland hath known no couch save pain,
No
mate except the
Hath
felt
dull cold chain,
the lash, and fed on jeers,
!
A
Tale of PolisJi Grief.
While Heaven,
The Or
it
1
1
seems, no longer hears
wail of prayers, the drip of tears,
the voices of the slain.
Thrice have her sons, despite their gyves,
Essayed
At
to sell their worthless lives
least against the price
Of ruin on
their gaolers
brought
;
But each brave stroke hath come
And
blood,
Only
No
to nought,
and wounds, and death, have brought,.
fresh bootless sacrifice.
blow was struck they did not share,
No
banner
raised, but straight
For one more
And
tussle with despair
ever as they fought, they
Waxing Till only
still
they flew ;
fell,
fewer and more few,
one remained
to tell
12
Lcszko the Bastard.
How
they had passed away, and dare
With
front erect
Those
One
and unquelled stare
earthly ministers of
hell.
only of that kindred band
Like some
last
column gazing lone
Across the bare and brackish sand, In a depopulated land, Telling of times and temples flown
"
'
He
Through Is
Love
loved me.
life's
all
every clime,
vicissitudes of time,
climacteric
Matched against All joys
in
!
we
it,
and prime. all
chase,
boons that
all
good we
bless,
prize,
All that of tender and sublime
Expands the heart and
fills
the eyes,
A Tastes
pitiful
Tale of Polish Grief.
and savourless.
It glorifies the It clothes
the heavens
all
shining there.
our feet from off the ground,
It lifts
It lets
us walk along the skies
makes the
With
daily silence
;
sound
transcendental harmonies.
It rules the seasons.
As
air,
with light the mountains bare,
And shows
It
common
Linnets sing
loud in winter as in spring,
When
hearts are
Bathed
With
leal,
and love
in its light, the distance
all
Its vivid
is
king.
glows
the colours of the rose.
gaze blends far and near
In one delicious atmosphere, Projects the future from the past,
1
3,
Lcszko the Bastard.
14
And
hugs the
Since love
The
faith,
that
is all,
fear,
all will last.
peevish voice of cloubt grows
The demons
And
without a
of dejection flee
dumb
;
even sordid cares become
But a divine anxiety.
Hope
sails
But makes
And
*
oft
love's
Sits
"
its
nest
in far-off skies,
upon the ground
happiness, coy wing that
Too
At
no more
Yes
;
flies
when mortal yearning woos,
sweet summons circling round,
on the nearest bough, and coos.
!
such
is
love in every land,
If blest or curst,
enslaved or
free.
But how can they whose chainless hand
;
A
Talc of Polish Grief.
stretch towards all they
May Whose
dream or
see,
lungs exult, whose lives expand,
In air of bracing
liberty,
Feel love's delirium like to those
Who,
And
of
all
other bliss bereft,
cooped from each hale wind that blows,
Fondle, amid a world of
The
solitary friend that's left
Through whatso
They
foes,
?
regions freemen roam,
find a hearth, they
make a home.
Their unfenced energies embrace All realms of thought,
At each
all fields
of space,
fresh step fresh prospects find,
Larger than any
And mount
with
From happiness
left
behind,
still
rewarded stress
to happiness.
1
Lcszko the Bastard.
6
E'en love
To
life's
Or
itself for
such can bring
tuned lyre but one more
string,
but with fingers subtly straying
Among
the chords, and softly playing,
Make more harmonious
everything.
But when to him whose hopes are bound
Within a dismal prison round,
Whose
thoughts, suspected, must not soar
Beyond
his straitened
Who may Nor
dungeon
not speak, nor groan, nor sigh,
lend sharp agony a vent,
Lest those should hear him
And
floor,
who
are nigh,
catch, perchance, in passing by,
Contagion from his discontent
;
Who
dwells an exile in his home,
And
cannot rest and
may
not roam
;
A Whom Who
Talc of Polish Grief.
even hope doth not delude
;
vainly lives, in vain would die,
And, hemmed
in close, alike
Society and solitude
Oh when !
to such as
it
fly,
;
he love brings o
Message of heaven upon It fills his heart,
would
its
wings,
floods his brain,
Riots in every pulse and vein,
And
turns to paradise his pain.
Body, and
To
soul,
and sense conspire
feed the rising, rushing
The
fire.
passions which are wont to share
Love's empire o'er distracted man,
Denied
The
their outlet, in
him fan
exclusive fury of desire.
As one who
faints of thirst,
he takes
1
7
Lcszko the Bastard.
iS
Swiftly what should be slowly quaffed,
With ravenous
Then
"
'
He
lips his fever slakes,
dies, delirious, of
Do
loved me.
His love returned If
in vain
it
On
leaf,
Go, ask of echo
Ask
you ask
Go, ask the sky
on tree and flower.
if it
wakes
voice in lonely places calls
of the silence
The sound
if it
;
takes
of plashing waterfalls
Ask
the parched plains
The
solace of descending
Ask
the unrippled lake that
Under
if I
pours sun and shower
herb and
When
?
the draught
if
:
they refuse
dews
;
lies
faint fleecy clouds that
flit,
!
A If
it
Talc of Polish Grief.
reflects
with tender eyes
The heavenly forms But ask not
The
me
if I
It straight
Woke
its
in
own
its
counterpart,
echo, roused a tone its
own,
made, the instant that
We loved,
ratify the
One
it
it
shone,
gazed upon.
as few have loved before,
'Chance none
To
;
any heart
had worked
Mirror of what
'
it
returned
In perfect concert with
"
that gaze on
love with which his being burned.
His passion such,
And
19
;
and
lo
!
the hour drew nigh
vows we swore
night beneath the sky,
Before the solemn altar-rails C 2
2O
Lcszko the Bastard.
O'er which
Who !
is
woman doomed
love, or lust, she
And She
hangs, pierced through with nails r
for our sins did die.
Oh why The
He
cannot share
hear from alien
fain herself
to bear
lips
;
the sighs
would waken
ne'er,
Save within kindred hearts and eyes
Never by word, nor
glance, nor e'en
That barren courtesy we give
Unto Did
all
things that
live,
his detested rival glean
That
Not But,
well nigh
I
another's
homage should
greet, as evil is
had
my
by good.
heart been free as
air,
Fickle as wind, as quick to take
Impression as some limpid lake
?
A
That every wanton breath can
How Who
had
nor
I,
brood
my
country been undone
nor
false,
to Poland,
nor
Than
and
to
him fight,
rather torn been limb from limb,
share with such love's last delight
answered
For
?
light,
yearned for Poland's wrongs to
Had
I
been by one
livery of the
free,
Bound both
Who
stir,
with hands in blood imbrued,
Thrice had
But
ruffled
it
wore the
By whom,
21
Tale of Polish Grief.
in
softly,
not in scorn
what guise
soe'er
it
;
come,
Because of gentle longings born,
Love should leave indignation dumb. But he was,
like his shifty race,
Disloyal, cunning, vengeful, base,
!
22
Lcszko the Bastard.
And when Love
Even
in
he heard the
of fate,
lips
him straightway turned
my
before
He menaced me He knew my
face
to hate,
!
with vengeance
dire.
lover, brother, sire,
All rebels to the core.
And
in the rush of lustful ire,
By
his schismatic saints
he swore,
That
ruin, exile, death,
"\Yith
speedy stroke upon them
Unless I
knew
He
I
it
should
fall
all,
fed his foul desire.
was no
idle boast
had the power
Abetted by a
;
to fetter, slay,
servile host,
Perjured, suborned
by bribes
to say
Whatever falsehood pleased him most.
A Yet then
I
Tale of Polish Grief.
bridled not
But poured upon All that by
When
my
scorn,
his dastard
woman
23
can be
head
said,
she confronts, before her eyes,
Creature created to despise,
And,
since of manlier
Can only wish him "
Beware "
" !
weapons shorn,
dead.
he croaked, with passion hoarse,
Within your patriot arms
shall
lie,
Repelled or \velcomed, none but
And what you now You
;
to love deny,
yet shall yield to fear or force."
With scorn yet
fiercer
than at
and bade him work
I
flashed,
"
Before to-morrow's sun hath
He
I
answered,
"
I
shall
first
his worst.
set,"
pay the debt
Lcszko the Bastard.
24
Of vengeance, never Think not I
to foil
me
or to
ever do the thing
Then laughing
baffled yet.
would."
I
loud, he
went
Hated the ground where
"
'
The Night
And
lay
!
fly
encamped
;
and
late
he stood.
in the
had waited the hour and
And
crept out noiselessly.
The
air
Except
And
was as
sky,
;
I,
lifted
the latch,
silent as love or death,
for the beat of
my
quickened breath,
once the lonely belated wail
Of an answered I
summer
the burning stars kept watch
All were asleep upon earth save
Who
I
nightingale.
dared not quicken
my
steps, for fear
A The
Tale of Polish Grief.
silence should listening be,
and
25
hear.
Slowly, stealthily, foot by foot.
Girding
my
garments tightly round,
Lest they should touch and I
On
tell
the ground,
threaded the laurel-walk and passed to the latchet-gate,
hand on the creaking key, aghast
My
Lest the
Through
With
!
first
stage of flight should prove the
and out
in the
meadows beyond,
the cooling grass -dews round
Which would But too
Over
and put
tell
the tale of
late to hinder its
my
my journey
feet,
fond,
purpose sweet
;
the narrow and swaying planks
That span the neck of the marish pool
Where
And
the
tall spear-lilies
close their ranks,
the water-hens nestle safe and cool.
last.
26
Lcszko the Bastard.
Then
into the gloomy,
Where
the trunks
darksome wood
seemed ghosts, and the big
boughs stood
As though Woman's
they would block
love
is
my
stronger than woman's fright,
And though dogged by dread, yet What
I
ne'er
way.
I
faced that night
had faced by day.
the blessed break, and the blank without,
From 1
each grinning bole and each staring leaf
clutched It
And
my
temples, and gave a shout
was mad, but
it
brought
then with a saner fear
To know
if
my
I
foolish cry
But, like to a stream
relief.
stopped
was heard.
where a stone
was only a moment
The
silence
And
stillness closed
;
is
dropped,
stirred,
over the hazard word.
?
A "
'
I
was there
My
!
in the
garden where
27
first I
lent
ear to the trembling music of love,
And my I
Talc of Polish Grief.
soul
was there
And
the
!
succumbed
to its blandishment.
could smell the syringa's scent
I
lilac
plumes that loomed dark abover
But, like to the heart that keeps alway
True
to
Was
its
when
friends,
lending the night that hid from view
Its delicate tufts
and tender hue,
Odours sweeter than
The laburnum
And But I
A
I
friends betray,
tassels
e'en
by
clay.
brushed
my
cheek,
the tangled clematis clutched
hurried along
;
though
was strengthened by
moment more, and Hard by
the
I
my
my
hair
limbs were
despair.
should be
window where he
slept.
;
weak r
Lcszko the Bastard.
:28
How If
should
I
wake him
another o'erheard
how
?
my
should
voice
?
I
flee,
crept
Softly, silently, over the sward.
The
walls
were dark, and the windows barred, Yes, 'twas he
All saving
Leaning out of
!
'twas he
!
his casement, lowly
Singing a love-song, sweetly, slowly,
That he
first
He
me
saw
had sung
He
not.
to me.
was gazing
Across the dark, mysterious
At At
infinite
I
finite
stood,
thing
and
fair,
something around, above,
With which, when
The
air,
the shining stars, at the solemn sky,
the unattainable far and
The
free
we
alone,
we
identify
love.
listened,
and drank each note
A Of
love that
As
it
And
*
as
it
have not time
floated
and died
resolve would shrink,
with the song replied.
instant,
The
night, the dark, the
And
all
And
all
that
that
and the echoed song,
was of
far
heavens bare,
and
was of sweet and
Seemed gathered
And
;
to think,
One
into
showered their magic on
close to
mine as
fair,
strong,
one embrace,
His arms were round me, and
As
throat,
impulse whispers the blessed thing
From which
"
it fell,
29.
then with that courage that oft will spring
When we
I
came from the yearning
rose, as
And
Tale of Polish Grief.
life
my
face.
his breath
to death.
30
Lcszko the Bastard.
He murmured
things
For
I
was deaf with
Dumb, I
too
;
could not hear,
I
and
bliss
fear.
in vain I strove to
speak
;
could but lean on breast and cheek,
And
my
prove
He
drew me
passion wildly weak.
was dumb,
I still
in.
Panting for words that would not come,
But only tears
And
broken
With which
syllables,
Why
"
There
is
O
come
!
and throbs,
whom
rapture robs
come
" ?
I
heard him say.
no hour of night or day, of thy worshipped feet
make
not
sobs,
love's delirium.
hast thou
The coming Would
and
hearts beat,
Of all save "
instead,
come
richer or
!
come
!
more sweet. Yes,
come alway
!
A
Talc of Polish Grief.
Nay, never come, love I
!
rather, stay
must or miss you, or not meet
Absence
And
I
But why
is
and presence
long,
am
dead,
fleet
"
The
in his face
terror in
!
saw
I
?
Love's brightness overcast by awe
And terror
!
;
when thou away and here
to-night,
3
;
o'ercame
my weakened
Till listening to his voice,
I
frame
;
caught
Contagion from his steadier thought,
And
found at length the words
With
rapid lips
What had The The
I
told
befallen
him
might
I
sought.
all,
befall
hateful lust, the lustful hate,
threats of one who, well he knew,
If false in love, in
wrath was
true,
1
Lcszko the Bastard.
32
And "
our impending
'Twas
this alone
And, Leszko I
I
now
!
murmured with a
Round me
his
fate.
came
'tis told,
arms he "
"
The
base assassins of our
By
farewell
" !
tightly flung,
"
!
tell,
faltering tongue.
And
Never
to
cried.
Thy
faith shall foil
soil.
the harmonious orbs that shine,
To-night, within that
What
dome
divine,
thou hast promised me, must be mine
Before to-morrow's sun can sink,
May And
deeds be done
I
vengeance wreaked
If thus
To-night
would not name, I
dare not think.
you went, 'twere vain you came! is
ours, and, seized, will
Ours, ours, through
all eternity.
be
I
A
Tale of Polish Grief.
The dawn
shall find us kneeling
Passion
purified
is
by prayer
hands of patriot priest
And
bind our premature caress.
we
are parted then,
One, one Hate,
in
lust,
we
where
;
And
If
33
shall bless
part,
body, breast, and heart.
and tyranny,
in vain
Will strive to snap the cherished chain
That we around ourselves have bound.
Vanda If
!
more be
my
love
in love's
!
my
wife
!
my more
!
language found,
Let them not baulk the troth we swore
Wed me And
!
with bonds not fiends can sever,
be thou mine
--
The winds
%
of the
if
-*
once
for ever --
morn began
-55-
to
stir,
" !
-5'c
Leszko the Bastard.
34
And
the stars began to pale
We could feel And
the chill of the
dreams,
its
We started The
up.
We
its
delight.
listened,
heard
;
and more
longer,
every copse began to
With music
shrill,
fill
piercing bitter,
fell,
discord of our forced farewell.
We clung one Then "
dangers,
then another still-
Louder and
The
air,
face of the shrinking night,
pipe of an awaking bird
Another
Till
moving
the lifting of the veil
That covers the Its
;
moment, panted,
bravely rending
Back through the
Vanda
!
my
love
us,
curling !
my
kissed,
he cried
morning
life
!
my
mist,
bride
!
A A
Talc of Polish Grief.
35
few brief hours, and side by side
Before Heaven's altar
As now Then
we
shall stand,
then one in hand,
in heart,
be the future blest or curst
Let Poland's tyrants wreak their worst
One
one more kiss
" !
"
The
richest of all
!
We leaned,
'
boons that
But paused, half given
!
to give
live,
.
.
.
We
each had
heard
A
sound that was no waking
Nor
bird,
stealthy footfall of the night,
Scudding the unseen tracks of
The
noise of
Upon
human
our ears
Came
;
flight.
voices broke
the words they spoke
nearer and more near. D
2
Lcszko the Bastard.
36
We
clung in silence
To more And
'twas too late
;
than bide the feet of
face
them without
Loudest among them
The
voice
I
I
fate,
fear.
could trace
hated most on earth
Another moment, and
;
his face,
Lit with vindictiveness and mirth,
Was
gazing on our checked embrace.
His myrmidons were I
did not shrink,
But closer clung,
I
at his heel
did not
to
reel,
make him
I
loathed him and his alien race.
I
know no more. I
Unarmed we
heard the clank of ordered
Then suddenly a
flung,
and
feel
stood,
steel,
blinding hood
Over my head was
:
I,
A
Talc of Polish Grief.
Powerless to struggle, see, or
37
cry,
Felt myself wrenched from arms that fain
Had
fenced
my
freedom, but in vain,
And, doubtful did he Borne through the Bound,
"
She
stifled,
paused,
live or die,
chilly
morning
cooped with
and
dumb
strove
air, '
despair
for
breath,
though
The mere remembrance Though
fled
of that hour,
and faded long ago,
Retained the never-dying power
To
choke and
And
leave her
But mute no
The
stifle
her again,
dumb and
less I sate
horror in
my
;
dark, as then.
and she
stare could see,
!
as
Leszko the Bastard.
38
The
speechless,
open-mouthed suspense,
That kept me gazing If
Or
there, to
had heard the worst from woe,
I
must prepare
if I
my
sense
For outrage deeper, more
And
O
no
The '
O
' !
The
!
strong.
she cried, for swift she guessed
hell of
no
anguish in
not that
of
my
my
breast
My boy
I
child of love
Memento
The
intense,
from extremity of wrong
Become invulnerably '
know
thou art
!
and not of
only mate
;
hate,
!
birth of heart convulsed on heart
With rapture pure and
passionate
Though never more upon my His breast did
beat, his
!
breast
head did
rest
;
A Though
I
Tale of Polish Grief.
no more beheld his eye
Beaming above me
When
39
all is
like the
bright and
sky
all is
high,
And by
which gazed on, one
Though
ne'er again his touch, his breath,
Was
blent with mine, to
That something betwixt
When
feel
and death,
it
divine,
suffereth
;
other hand has soiled the shrine
And, Leszko
"
;
the converging senses reel,
Joy knows not what
My
blest
make me
life
And, through devotedness
No
is
senses, as
lost
my
!
though
it
yet mine, '
soul,
She saw the shadow But, as
lost,
;
kept thine
quit
!
my brow
crept away, the light
;
Lcszko the Bastard.
40
Seemed
to desert her temples
The hand
now.
she had imprisoned tight
In hers, while travelling wildly back
To She
passion's bourne o'er sorrow's track,
loosed,
and half
Hast heard,
'
let go.
Hast drunk, hast understood, each word/ Slowly she asked,
'
my
lips
have said
?
Ours was no sanctioned marriage-bed.
No
priestly blessing, altar's
rite,
Confirmed the nuptials of that
Leszko
!
'
thou art
"
That paused upon the
I
night.
;
Twas
not her tongue
bitter word,
But that before the name
I
heard
arms
I
flung
shrink not from,
Around her
my
sainted neck and showered
A The I
Tale of Polish Grief.
love with which
was
soul
stirred.
kissed her knees, her hands devoured, I
hushed her mouth,
I
sealed her eyes,
With
kisses blent with broken cries,
Such
as from baffled lips arise
When
bursting hearts are overpowered
With sense *
my
41
Mother
The
of sublime sacrifice.
' !
'
I
cried,
child of love,
Than bear
I'd
sooner be
and him, and
thee,
or boast the tightest ties
Altars can knit or priests devise
!
If love, faith, country cannot bind
Two
souls through love already blent,
Where among
mortals shall
Solemnity or Sacrament
And
were aught wanting
we
find
?
to complete
Leszko the Bastard.
42
In face of God's just judgment-seat,
Thy The
snapped-off love and
tyrant's outrage, years of wrong,
Have weaved
And made
"
life,
thee wedlock doubly strong, thee more than wife
She smoothed
my
hair,
' !
caressed
Consoling tears coursed
my brow
down her
Furrowed by sorrow's barren plough
She stroked 1
Yes, Leszko
my !
;
cheek, :
hand, she strove to speak
:
Holier bond was ne'er
Sanctioned by heaven or sealed by prayer.
Let others deem that formal vows Breathed between kneeling spouse and spouse,
Can Is
sanctify a link
where each
but the slave of ordered speech
;
A Where Are
Tale of Polish Grief.
vanity, ambition, greed,
the base instincts that precede
The
purest of the passions, sent
Life's desolate
Up
low steps to lead
to the star-thronged
Let others fancy,
if
they
firmament
Are sacramental bonds, though calculating coldness
The Let
smile,
guile
fill
hollows of the heart the while
those, too, scorn
;
will,
That pomp, and compliment, and
And
43
me who
;
have knelt
In fancied faithfulness, and sworn
The
eternal troth they thought they
But, soon as they were
One
to
whose
Not more
left to
flesh their flesh
in marriage-sheet
felt,
mourn
they vowed
than shroud,
Leszko
44
tlie
Bastard.
After a few short trappings worn
To
silence the censorious crowd,
Have
let their facile feelings
Unto some second
melt
fancy, nursed
In the same lap where burned the
Let them
Me
unto him
life,
;
!
'Twas love alone
and not the grave,
not death, shall e'er deprave
The body Not mine a
that remains his own.
fault for
By Heaven
which
a suppliant need to be
To
any,
And
I
to crave
or mortal to be shriven.
If I
'tis,
!
Nor pomp nor pandars gave
!
Anointed us
Not
first
my
boy, to thee
by thee am
all
!
forgiven
!
A "
'
Yet Its
I
45
that night of shining joy
yet
shadow
am
And
Tale of Polish Grief.
not,
I
flings
athwart thy
life
can ne'er be wife,
thou art no one's son, our boy
His name
I
gave
!
and despite
thee,
Their jugglery of wrong and It shall
;
right,
thou bear, whatever betide.
But who can give thee aught beside Bastard thou art It
!
and thou canst
?
claim,
boots not what thy blood, thy fame,
Thy
father's features,
Only a bastard's But,
Leszko
!
manly
age,
heritage.
who would
care to boast
All that the rightful covet most
Who, who would wish Honour, or rank, or
to clutch
;
and hold
lands, or gold,
Leszko the Bastard.
46
When
A
lands,
and gold, and rank, but be
brighter badge of slavery
?
They who have nothing may excuse Submission to the tyrant's beck
Too
;
bare and beggared to refuse
Unsavoury morsel from the hand
That plants the heel upon the neck
Of their
assassinated land.
But they who yet have aught Base must they be
What
still is left
The mourning Be
if
to lose,
they can use
to them, to
deck
of their country's wreck.
sure thy sire doth not retain
What would Of me,
How
but aggravate his pain.
of love,
when
would he care
dispossessed,
to
keep the
rest
?
A Robbed
Tale of Polish Grief.
of
my
But emptiness
Vacuous
tore
With
it
arms, his arms would find in all behind,
and moaning wind.
air
Who
47
me from
him, must have torn
long since the worldly dregs
Easy resigned by him who begs
That death
And
"
'
him be kind,
at least to
bans the day that he was born
Nay, ask not
if
he
lives.
I
!
know
Nothing, since that cold dawn of woe.
Once more
The
had
to hear,
and
bear,
vengeful menace, lustful prayer,
Of one who
He
I
sued, but
would not
spare.
threatened he would blazen wide
That which he dared
to call
my
shame.
Lcszko the Bastard.
48
Guess how
I
answered
!
I
defied,
Exulted, and with patriot pride
Told him that
Would trumpet
Had done
I
myself to fame
forth the
deed that
to foil the treachery
Already hatching, and by
He
"
'
alas
'Twas over,
Familiar
!
had sealed
I
quick.
whom
!
his reply.
my
doom.
saw no more
face, or roof, or floor,
Or anything
My
That was
cursed me.
But mine,
I
I
knew
before.
eyes were bandaged, limbs were bound,
As through rough Aware but
distance on
we wound,
of the unseen ground
We traversed
ever,
day and
night.
A
Talc of Polish Grief.
At length they gave me back my
And
lo
The
desert steppe, inhuman, bare,
!
gazed around
face,
might recognize
A
that
I
some kindred
in this desert place. all
I
saw,
I
knew;
never one among them threw pitying glance on me.
desolate
Have
it
seemed,
thankful been
Before
vow
if
I
should
there had stood
me even he
\Yho thuswise had I
some
for
Some woe
But none of
So
me
look,
And
;
stare for stare.
Some answering
Even
sight
there stretched before, around,
That answered me with I
49
my
to you, his face
ruin wrought. I
sought,
guise,
Lcszko the Bastard.
5O
Among Xo
the convoy, early,
no
face,
fiend,
my
late.
exiled fate
Could now or better make or worse
And
it
Could
I
And
**
'
A
to
me
relief
:
had brought
have seen him, but
to hate,
greeted, but to curse
!
mute and melancholy band,
For days and weeks we journeyed
on.
Across a bare and level land,
On
which the
But whence Utterly, as
Dawn It
all life
sun ever shone,
and growth were gone,
from salt-steeped strand.
after
seemed
fierce
to
dawn, the steppe stretched round
have no
halt,
no end,
Centre, circumference, nor bound,
A No
sight,
Tale of Polish Grief.
no shade, no
But ever we appeared Into eternal exile,
To make
Now
to
scent,
no sound
1
;
wend
doomed
the endless track
over sand,
5
now
we
trod,
scanty sod,
\Yhere nought save blight and canker bloomed.
Though on we Further
we
gasped, no goal was gained
went, further remained,
As when thought Save
that, instead,
Towards
r
We And
to
God
:
go
woe.
but each alone.
durst not with each other speak,
but exchanged a tear or groan.
The
And
we seemed
infinity of
Many we w ere,
struggles after
to
strong might not assist the weak,
be child or
woman gave E 2
;
Lcszko the Bastard.
52
No
privilege or power, save
To
suffer
more and be more brave.
So wretched were we, we could
A
lighter load of wretchedness
And when Began
;
sun
at last the cruel
to pity us,
bless
and leave
In sleep our pain a short reprieve,
We
almost
We knew
felt
our griefs were done.
not they had scarce begun.
Into another land
we
passed,
Drearier and deader than the
last,
That knows no
past,
future
and no
But only one fixed present
Where Nothing
And
!
land
nothing waxeth more or
is
born and nothing
less,
dies,
where, 'neath never-changing skies,
A
Tale of Polish Grief.
E'en frozen time
itself
doth stand
Immutable and motionless
A
And
freeze the blood, congeal the mind,
harden
man
against
Region of death that But ever on
its
icy
is
mankind
Forbid to
live,
And, as
bed
In vain
I
!
used to pray and pine
leave
On
forbid to die
of deathlessness in death.
The greedy
And
lie,
doom, such too seemed mine,
its
The doom
:
not dead,
Lies dying, and must ever
'
!
land of snow and snow-fed wind,
Which
"
53
cold would suck
my empty
my
breath,
husk to bleach
the untrodden waste of white,
Lcszko the 23astard.
54
And draw Or
"
'
the prowling jackal's screech,
give the wolf one foul delight.
One
night, as, prostrate in despair
At each unanswered I
tear
and prayer,
blasphemed God, and wildly sware
That
Me
if
at least
would not give
would no longer
I
death,
He
live,
But would myself the torture end,
That had nor change, nor hope, nor
Sudden I
I
started,
gave a cry
seemed as changed
Oh And
!
joy
I
!
then for worlds
'Twas thou
!
I
from stone
my more
!
:
alone.
would not die
'twas thou
In joylessness
;
to flesh
was no more
friend,
my
babe
than joy
!
!
!
my
boy
!
A more
My
hell
Talc of Polish Grief.
my
knees
I
prayed forgiveness for
What now
My
to
me
more
or ache
The memory
fell,
my
sin.
or cold or heat,
shivering head,
Hunger
I
'mid
!
Weeping, upon
And
heaven
than
55
?
I
my
burning
feet,
held within
of that midnight sweet.
had no thought
for things without
:
Sensation, suffering, struggle, doubt,
Each sense wherewith we
Was
My
And
hear, see,
concentrated inwardly
aim was how
That
feel,
to feed the root
in the silence 'gan to shoot,
pulsed with promise of the
Sometimes,
in fresh access of
fruit.
woe,
than
Lcszko
56
Hope
Bastard,
tlic
veered, and longed that thou and
Lay underneath
warm
the snug,
Together, and with none to
But swung back
From
desperation's gusty
snow,
know
ever, true
;
and high,
strife,
Pointing from love and set towards
'
*
You
lived !'.,.'
Tell
me no more
The
Pride, love,
And,
let
and
what
No wrong my From your
!
and
now we
exile, side
will of
!
here
I
cried,
cannot bear
grief,
not enough that
life
'
mother I
!
and
tale of love,
Is't
O
by
wrong
pride.
share
side
?
betide-.
youth, at least, shall tear,
soft
I
hand and
'
silver}- hair
!
A "
'
Talc of Polish Grief.
What, Leszko
Her 1
voice
quit
my
My
my
living",
I
said,
fled
know,
haunt you dead
side, luxurious
boy
?
!
almost joy,
is
hopes of husband
!
fled,
interrupted marriage-bed,
charge you, bid you, not to
To
she
were
shrink from pain without alloy
]>y all
I
'
!
told this tale of woe,
I
Share anguish that
To
tears
your love for me,
stir
Will hold you
Not
Leszko's son
was grave, her
Think you
To
!
57
me. to love, to anything
Not
leave
me
The mawkish Not
What
!
kiss, the
cling,
!
is this I
hear
?
vapid tear, '
flashing eye
She pushed me
and springing spear '
off.
It
cannot be
!
:
Lcszko
llic
Bastard.
His patriot seed and mine
Thou
And
art
some
channeling" o o
I
see.
!
Go, then, o ^o
!
hunt the lynx across the snow,
And when
the blue-eyed scyllas blow,
Gather thereof a dainty bunch,
To woo some
daughter of the
foe,
While jackals and hyenas crunch
Thy
No
country's flesh
flowers, of all
Spring used to know,
Save such as mourn
For Poland,
I
and bones, and bloom
o'er Poland's
from him was
For Poland, he from me
tomb
torn,
But thou
!
Thou, thou forsooth, must cling on now, I
.ike infant that,
from threatened hurt
Flies whimpering, to thy mother's skirt,
Dead unto duty
as to scorn
!
!
A
Tale of Polish Grief.
59
Bastard, indeed, thoti doubly wert,
And
both
knelt
I
!
me down
towards the ground
;
I
bowed my head
I
did not dare to raise
But when '
Mother
Nor
at last
my
'
cried,
bastard,
and
lowly guise.
my
voice
'
I
!
in
I
am
his
But gazing on thy holy I all
wast
thou
that
'
born
"
shamed
are
I
eyes,
found,
not base,
blood
is
mine
;
face,
forgot a woe, a wrong,
Sadder, more sacred, e'en than thine.
But now thy strength hath made
And
in
And
my in
me
features thou shalt trace,
my
soul, that
I
belong
strong,
6o
Leszko the Bastard.
Unto a noble name and race/
Of
voice or gaze.
my
melting in
\Yhen
*
There was no sign
stood up straight.
I
'
shall
I
go
?
'
I
said,
The ways
Are not more ready stretched than
To
start at once, to run, to
I
fly,
Whither thy sharp reproaches point Mother, farewell I
the blood of Poland
feel
She
is
'
mother
my
Can
"
In every joint
!
lonely
!
I
live, will
for her
lonely
Kneel then once more But
Her
this
face
Her
stir.
die.*
' !
she
said.
time with unbending brow.
fawned towards me, and
lips
I
upon me, tender now.
I
felt
knelt,
A She took the Passed (
I
'
Talc of Polish Grief.
cross from off her breast,
cord softly o'er
its
have no sv/ord to
But you
That now
Among
thick
my she
give,'
though
said,
-
the forests where, once more, strife,
liberates with lavish gore,
Awhile, the fever of Listen
its life.
There shortly
!
Two
start
from hence
fresh battalions of the foe,
For Poland bound.
To
:
baffled, blest
Poland renews the hopeless
And
head
one 'mong the dead
will find
lie
61
They
doubtless go
aid their kindred's violence.
You must march Nay,
start not
Aye, boy
!
!
must
with them o'er the snow.
must
their colours wear,
false allegiance
swear
62
Lcszko the Bastard.
To
their detested Pontiff-Czar
Such
perjuries,
Not heard
And
if
I tell
!
thee, are
Heaven's just judgment-bar.
at
thy lips abhor the
lie,
'
so do
Poland absolves thee
"
The hour had
We
We
stood,
!
come, and face to face
my
mother, there, and
did not fondle nor embrace
She did not weep, I
I
I
I.
;
did not sigh.
wore the trappings of the race
That battens upon Poland's heart So, well
I
Unfolded I
1
knew
;
that uncaressed,
to her craving breast,
from her must depart.
Have you
'
the cross
?
she asked.
I
laid
A My
Talc of Polish Grief.
hand where
'gainst
But did not speak.
Brood on
it,
my
heart
it
Both night and day,
'
as a constant
maid
Broods on the face that cannot
When It
he who loves her
is
away
fade,
!
was the one dumb thing on earth
That spoke
me
to
the only one,
;
Dead, that was eloquent of birth
So have I
lay,
have no
No
I
given
it
gift of his,
thee,
no
trinket, trifle, leaf,
Naught But
it
to
remind
was on
night,
Was
'twixt his
Go, now
!
my
when
That
me
it,
of
my
;
son
!
toy,
nor flower,
my joy.
breast that hour,
and
it
alone,
bosom and my own.
And
I
will nightly
pray
Lcszko the Bastard.
64
The ""Queen \Yhen
And
bitter
She
And
then
And
left
"
we may
Why
!
went without
the rest
How
*
way
caress,
?
Too
well
all
you know,
lent
no blow
our wasted gore,
Poland, maddened, rose once more,
blindly struck at friend
should
The Virgin
is
of Florence.
I tell
and
foe.
the tale, too long
!
regarded by the Poles as Queen of Poland, in the same
as, in 1529, Christ
Xing
;
you, free child of Freedom's shore,
In aid of
Why
!
raised her hands to bless
That spurred our hopes, but
And
'
day
her to her loneliness.
tell
Ah
I
meet,
has been turned to sweet,
earthly dark to heavenly
bent.
I
of Poland,
was elected and proclaimed, by the Great
(.'onncil,
A Of the weak
Tale of Polish Grief.
writhing 'gainst the strong,
Pricked by reiterated wrong
The orphaned The sudden The
65
?
pillows, rifled roofs,
rush of trampling hoofs,
reeking village, blazing town
;
The
perjured charge, the traitor's mesh,
The
virgin's lacerated flesh
The
wail of childhood, helpless
Frenzy
itself
had stepped
;
fair,
to spare
Priests at the altar stricken
;
down,
Mingling their blood with that of Christ,
While
sacrificing, sacrificed
Chaste spouses of the
From earth, and from
;
cloister,
weaned
Earth's passions screened.
Shrieking beneath the clutch of fiend,
And
outraged, less from lust than hate,
66
Lcszko the Bastard.
In refuges inviolate.
Enough Its
!
demons
The
Had
Hell broke loose, and sent
forth,
on man
to vent
tortures God's maligners feign
Heaven vents on
Have
them, they
would
in vain
striven to paragon the pain
Poland's oppressors
knew
to
wreak
Upon
the sensitive and weak,
When
we, the strong, their strength defied,
And
"
I
Freedom,
was too
But straight
And joined
Who
late.
I
foiling despots, died.
'Twas nearly
o'er
sloughed the garb
one
last
I
wore,
determined band,
to the border forests clung
That sever from the
;
Tartar's
hand
A
Tale of Polish Grief.
67
That share of our partitioned land
Which owns a Keeping
We did No
!
more
rule
at least
its
creed and tongue.
not think with fate to cope
me
vengeance to
We were pursued by one
I
mercy or heard,
'Twas
As
he,
who gave
to faint or brave
and knew
whose
lust
his
:
name.
had torn apart heart,
far as hatred can.
We lay
in
ambush
could not
We He
;
came.
For ever loving heart from
And
and bland,
vengeance was our only hope,
And
No
just
fly,
;
they were caught,
so mercy sought.
slew them, to a
fell
to
me
!
One
man
!
thrust
I
made,
68
Leszko the Bastard.
And I
at
my
I
saw him
sucked the blood from Christ
Than
Or
*'
feet
It
!
it
was sweet
off
my
blade
:
aye, sweeter far
the glow of the evening star
last
Across the
A gap
blow
frontier,
!
We
struck.
fled
each as best
could gain, and
left
the dead
stock the unclean raven's nest.
Exile once more, though
Henceforth lay open to
my
all
the earth
tread,
All save the one that gave I
:
the smile of home, than the kiss of maid r
was the
To
!
laid
me
birth,
saw no goal except the one Where,
sitting
The mother
mute
in
deepest dearth,
waited for the son.
A But how
And
I
?
started
Day
Tale of Polish Grief.
donned the
69
pedlar's pack,
on the trackless
track,
after day, league after league,
Fatigue slow-linked with slow fatigue,
But ever getting nearer back
Unto the Sat
me.
patiently, awaiting
And
there was yet another sight
my
Behind, to spur
The
foe,
And
And
the fiend,
I
flagging tread
laid
I
it
have borne at
my
And made my raved.
!
his hated head,
mother's feet
The very thought
:
felled in fight,
gloated over, dead
Could
I
where she
larch-log fire
!
fresh vigour gave,
final footsteps fleet.
You deem
that
still I
rave.
Leszko the Bastard.
jo
What think you that
"
Back, back across the cruel waste,
Her tomb
An
behind,
my
life
before
Not
e'en a rock 'gainst
vista of
Rather than
Such misery
And woo And
I,
That
since I
to find a shore,
which
to break
unending ache,
Trod and endured
for
live
fresh
no one's sake
woe
will
make,
misfortune for a friend. it
could
I
without some end,
was vain find,
to
hope
where'er
I
ran,
Solace or happiness, began
For
;
ebbing wave that raced and raced,
But ne'er could hope
A
Her
they found ?
further wretchedness to grope.
:
grave.
A Now
other object had
From
rise of
Except
Though
Or
Tale of Polish Grief.
I
none,
to set of sun,
day
to seek
well
I
my
knew
sire
I
should not
finding, curse the fate
That baulked not
And
fate
was
;
my
find,
unkind
desire.
ruthless to the
last.
Five years of bootless search had passed,
And Her I
still I
But when on
sought.
fire,
roofs delirious Paris saw,
found him stretched on sordid straw.
He
had not fought
for
crowd or law
:
Sooth, had he wished, he could not draw
A
sword from scabbard now, nor His body from
His brackish
life
its
lift
borrowed bed.
was ebbing
swift.
7
1
Lcszko the Bastard.
72
He who
had eaten beggar's bread,
And known That
each sad and sordid shift
just sustains the exile's tread,
Needed no more I
knelt
And
the stranger's gift
me down
beside his head,
breathed her name into his
There came no
start,
ear.
no word, no tear
:
His brain was deaf; he did not know
The
difference
now
'twixt joy
and woe,
''Twixt love and hate, 'twixt friend and foe,
'Twixt
My
me and any
I
Vain
!
years of search and sought-for pain.
Yet not
A
other
quite vain.
silver locket
stretched
'Gainst
it
my
Upon
hung
hand
to
;
his breast
and when it,
he pressed
his own, nor loosed again,
A
Tale of Polish Grief.
Until he passed I
took
it
And Not
lo
as
But
when
I
With eyes
And
his grasp
knew
in the
all
to rest.
away
was
it
!
my
her,
grew
glow of youth and grace,
of heaven and hair of gold, the passion of her race.
and
I
put her cross there in
it
The
iron cross
And
iron, too
And
who
!
its
;
rusted chain.
the fitting
for
place
indeed
me where
!
:
!
meed
wronged Poland
ever bleed in vain
bear
its
yes, cross
" Rise quick, ye winds
And
!
blanched and old,
wear
those
cold,
mother's face
I
Of
73
bleed,
!
Race
blue
swift,
Danube
ye waves rolls,
!
Lcszko the Bastard.
74
Past Orsova's loud-foaming caves,
On
armed hosts of
'twixt
To
scatter
rival slaves,
among Euxine
shoals.
Now, do you ask why hence
To join
My poor On
the
weak
those
I
fly
Moslem camp, and life,
foredoomed
who Freedom's
to die,
flag unfurl
For Christian boor and Sclavic
Out on
the sacrilegious
Robbers, assassins,
Whose
lie
liars,
feet are fresh
hurl
churl
!
slaves
!
from outraged graves
Let those among you, dupes, or worse, Sucklings of falsehood, or
its
nurse,
Believe that Russian arms can bear
To
?
others aught except a share
In chains themselves consent to wear
!
!
A Let them
Storm I
!
Tale of Polish Grief.
But
hell,
would the
I
!
75
Did Tartar swords
and Turkish infernal
steel defend,
Cause befriend
Against the worse than demon hordes
Who
to the
And
enter Hell, to
damned would bring
make
it
fresh curse,
worse
" !
THE END.
LONDON
:
BRADBURY, AGNEW,
CO.,
PRINTERS, WHITEFKIAKS.
YC160673
SZKC 1495! Jtes
A TALE OF POLISH GRIEF
TIN
LIBRARY I
UNIVERSITY
OF
LESZKO THE BASTARD.
POETICAL WORKS, BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
THE HUMAN TRAGEDY.
Crown
Svo.
los. 6
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Crown
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WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS, EDINBURGH AND LONDON.
LESZKO THE BASTARD Mt
at
$dis&
rwf.
BY
ALFRED
AUSTIN
LONDON
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 1877.
:
193,
PICCADILLY.
LONDON BRADBURY, AGNEW,
&
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:
PRINTERS, \\HITEFRIAKS.
LOAN STACK
TO
THE MOST EMINENT PHILANTHROPIST OF HIS AGE, Cljte -Poem t$ Utfcwatrtf
WITH PROFOUND HOMAGE IN
THAT
IT
MAY ENGAGE
;
THE EARNEST HOPE HIS SYMPATHY,
AND SECURE
HIS ZEAL,
FOR THE MOST OPPRESSED OF SCLAVONIC COMMUNITIES,
AND THE MOST PERSECUTED OF CHRISTIAN NATIONS.
yune
if)tfi,
1877.
685
LESZKO THE BASTARD, 0f
WHY
do
To
Why
bid the rising gale
I
waft hail
The
olisl
me
I,
from your shore
as the vultures hail,
scent of far-off gore
Why wear
I
And
I
fain
That
am vowed
gear,
to Christ that died,
would staunch the gaping side
felt
And why
?
with defiant pride
The Paynim's badge and Though
?
the sceptic spear
doth one in
whom
?
there runs
Lcszko the Bastard.
The
blood of Sclavic sires and sons,
In those but find a
foe,
That onward march with sword and
To
vindicate the Sclavic name,
From the
To
fringe of Arctic snows,
the cradle of the rose,
Where Strange
the Sweet Waters flow
Lagged
and Tartar
far
I
Then
splinters
if I,
fly,
behind the van.
While the wind Listen
?
But 'twere stranger yet
!
When Turk
"
flame,
dallies with
and you marvel,
shall
if
hear
you can
Nothing but snow
!
A
my my
sail,
tale
;
!
white waste world,
Far as eye reached, or voice could
call
!
A Motion within
The
Now
earth
Talc of Polish Grief.
itself slept furled
;
was dead, and Heaven
its pall
!
nothing lived except the wind,
That, moaning round with restless mind,
Seemed
like uncoffined
O'er vacant
Some Nothing
No
it
to
My My
no near, no high, no low
to stop the
the latch, and
of
snow
shivered
I
!
!
tall,
and
and the
!
!
in
;
mother stood by the larch-log
the shapely head
And
it.
wandering glance
mother, stately, and
With
might find
break the white expanse
One smooth monotony J lifted
flit
kindred thing to speak with
far,
Nothing
tracts, that
ghost to
blaze,
thin,
soft
white skin,
the sweetly-sorrowing gaze. B 2
Lcszko the Bastard.
She was younger than
you, aye, you
who
In matron prime by your household
A
in a
happy wife
And
with
all
happy
stand
fire,
land,
your heart's desire.
But though bred,
like
you, from the proud
and
brave,
Her hair was blanched and her If
you knew what
And
"
it is
to be born a slave,
to feel a despot's ire
!
She turned her round from the hearth That hath waited
1
voice was grave.
Come
hither,
and
long,
sit
and
by me,
like
one
said,
my
son
!
For somehow to-night doth remembrance run Back
to the days that are dead.
And you
are
tall
and stalwart now,
A And
coming manhood
shadow
Its
Sit
Tale of Polish Grief.
by me
o'er
your brow
'gins to shed. '
close
and as
!
Close, close as
I
I
could
sate
sit,
She took my hand and placed
On
hers,
Then with
My
and fondled
wind-tossed locks apart,
my
bared temples, hushed
flow of love that else had gushed,
Love-loosened, from
"
'
Listen
Here
You
it.
the same soft palm she brushed
And, kissing
The
it flat
!
my
heart.
you often have questioned why
'neath this pale Siberian sky,
scarcely live,
That we
I
slowly die.
dwell on, but exiles here,
Lcszko the Bastard.
In regions barren, sunless, drear,
And To
have no more the power
to fly
brighter lands and bluer sky,
Than some poor
whom
bird
man's caprice
Hath tethered by a clanking
chain,
And
pain
To
leaves upon
pine
its
perch
for, ne'er to find release,
This do you know, and Since
The Even
Or
first I
how
my
could
links
Tale steeped tale of
have known
taught your mouth to frame
boyhood's,
That
A
still
syllables of Poland's
before
Ikit
in
me
name,
own. I
to childhood's ears,
tell
the tale of tears
with the bygone years
in rapture,
wrong, and
?
drenched with woe r loss,
and
love,
A
Tale of Polish Grief.
That opens
And
A
ends
tale
in
in
the heavens above,
worse than
hell
below
?
only could impart
I
To mind
mature and full-grown heart
A
fill
tale to
With
And
And
your larger
overflowing bitterness,
set
you with yourself
Of manhood Your temples
it
at strife
?
The down
now.
fringes lip
and cheek
;
take a richer brown,
on your forehead buds the crown
Of kingly thought Listen
Of
life
hissing waters of distress
But you must hear
And
;
!
all I
and
let
utter
Upon your
no
fall
that yet will speak.
faintest
unheard
ear or heart
!
word
Lcszko the Bastard.
8
'Twill wring your youth, but nerve
And what
have
now
I
But unveil tyranny
"
'
So
you
The same
!
lavish locks,
limbs, like yours,
Yet supple
For
Or
as the
blue eye, high,
!
were straight and strong,
bough
in
bud
;
tyrants cannot tame the blood,
noble lineage
Its heritage of
And maybe And
?
same forehead
But of a manlier majesty His
lose,
In every
through wrong
hardihood.
since his years
partly that filial
:
to view,
the avenging dart
Same
too
left to do,
And wing
like to
it
were more,
you needs must bear
vein and pore
A With
Tale of Polish Grief.
his pure strain the base alloy
Of that
in
Though you
you which are
Yet he was In days that
When And To
A
tall
taller,
my
live in song,
felt
Poland's heel,
Poland's horsemen, cased in
steel,
Volo's plain were wont to throng,
And vowed, uphold
As His
!
comelier.
hundred thousand manes
To
share,
and comely, boy
now but
Rurik's hinds
is
it
if
on
Heaven
let fall
were there
H aught of mien
the sky,
their lance's length
'twere a silken canopy
sires
in strength,
;
in gallant trim,
and hard of limb-
Visors up and foreheads gashed,
Swords that poised, and swooped, and
flashed,
io
Lcszko the Bastard.
Like the wings of the flaming Cherubim
And when
Imperial vultures tore
\Yith banded beaks Sarmatia's breast,
And wallowed
in Sarmatia's gore,
His fathers by
their fathers
Ne'er to recede nor Till they
rest,
had pushed the watchful points
Of vengeance
Of armour Of
swore
in
between the
joints
dear to tyrants pricked
conscience never hushed nor tricked,
And made them
Vow
feel
what they
inflict.
sternly kept, but kept in vain
For ninety hoping, hopeless
!
years,
Poland hath known no couch save pain,
No
mate except the
Hath
felt
dull cold chain,
the lash, and fed on jeers,
!
A
Tale of PolisJi Grief.
While Heaven,
The Or
it
1
1
seems, no longer hears
wail of prayers, the drip of tears,
the voices of the slain.
Thrice have her sons, despite their gyves,
Essayed
At
to sell their worthless lives
least against the price
Of ruin on
their gaolers
brought
;
But each brave stroke hath come
And
blood,
Only
No
to nought,
and wounds, and death, have brought,.
fresh bootless sacrifice.
blow was struck they did not share,
No
banner
raised, but straight
For one more
And
tussle with despair
ever as they fought, they
Waxing Till only
still
they flew ;
fell,
fewer and more few,
one remained
to tell
12
Lcszko the Bastard.
How
they had passed away, and dare
With
front erect
Those
One
and unquelled stare
earthly ministers of
hell.
only of that kindred band
Like some
last
column gazing lone
Across the bare and brackish sand, In a depopulated land, Telling of times and temples flown
"
'
He
Through Is
Love
loved me.
life's
all
every clime,
vicissitudes of time,
climacteric
Matched against All joys
in
!
we
it,
and prime. all
chase,
boons that
all
good we
bless,
prize,
All that of tender and sublime
Expands the heart and
fills
the eyes,
A Tastes
pitiful
Tale of Polish Grief.
and savourless.
It glorifies the It clothes
the heavens
all
shining there.
our feet from off the ground,
It lifts
It lets
us walk along the skies
makes the
With
daily silence
;
sound
transcendental harmonies.
It rules the seasons.
As
air,
with light the mountains bare,
And shows
It
common
Linnets sing
loud in winter as in spring,
When
hearts are
Bathed
With
leal,
and love
in its light, the distance
all
Its vivid
is
king.
glows
the colours of the rose.
gaze blends far and near
In one delicious atmosphere, Projects the future from the past,
1
3,
Lcszko the Bastard.
14
And
hugs the
Since love
The
faith,
that
is all,
fear,
all will last.
peevish voice of cloubt grows
The demons
And
without a
of dejection flee
dumb
;
even sordid cares become
But a divine anxiety.
Hope
sails
But makes
And
*
oft
love's
Sits
"
its
nest
in far-off skies,
upon the ground
happiness, coy wing that
Too
At
no more
Yes
;
flies
when mortal yearning woos,
sweet summons circling round,
on the nearest bough, and coos.
!
such
is
love in every land,
If blest or curst,
enslaved or
free.
But how can they whose chainless hand
;
A
Talc of Polish Grief.
stretch towards all they
May Whose
dream or
see,
lungs exult, whose lives expand,
In air of bracing
liberty,
Feel love's delirium like to those
Who,
And
of
all
other bliss bereft,
cooped from each hale wind that blows,
Fondle, amid a world of
The
solitary friend that's left
Through whatso
They
foes,
?
regions freemen roam,
find a hearth, they
make a home.
Their unfenced energies embrace All realms of thought,
At each
all fields
of space,
fresh step fresh prospects find,
Larger than any
And mount
with
From happiness
left
behind,
still
rewarded stress
to happiness.
1
Lcszko the Bastard.
6
E'en love
To
life's
Or
itself for
such can bring
tuned lyre but one more
string,
but with fingers subtly straying
Among
the chords, and softly playing,
Make more harmonious
everything.
But when to him whose hopes are bound
Within a dismal prison round,
Whose
thoughts, suspected, must not soar
Beyond
his straitened
Who may Nor
dungeon
not speak, nor groan, nor sigh,
lend sharp agony a vent,
Lest those should hear him
And
floor,
who
are nigh,
catch, perchance, in passing by,
Contagion from his discontent
;
Who
dwells an exile in his home,
And
cannot rest and
may
not roam
;
A Whom Who
Talc of Polish Grief.
even hope doth not delude
;
vainly lives, in vain would die,
And, hemmed
in close, alike
Society and solitude
Oh when !
to such as
it
fly,
;
he love brings o
Message of heaven upon It fills his heart,
would
its
wings,
floods his brain,
Riots in every pulse and vein,
And
turns to paradise his pain.
Body, and
To
soul,
and sense conspire
feed the rising, rushing
The
fire.
passions which are wont to share
Love's empire o'er distracted man,
Denied
The
their outlet, in
him fan
exclusive fury of desire.
As one who
faints of thirst,
he takes
1
7
Lcszko the Bastard.
iS
Swiftly what should be slowly quaffed,
With ravenous
Then
"
'
He
lips his fever slakes,
dies, delirious, of
Do
loved me.
His love returned If
in vain
it
On
leaf,
Go, ask of echo
Ask
you ask
Go, ask the sky
on tree and flower.
if it
wakes
voice in lonely places calls
of the silence
The sound
if it
;
takes
of plashing waterfalls
Ask
the parched plains
The
solace of descending
Ask
the unrippled lake that
Under
if I
pours sun and shower
herb and
When
?
the draught
if
:
they refuse
dews
;
lies
faint fleecy clouds that
flit,
!
A If
it
Talc of Polish Grief.
reflects
with tender eyes
The heavenly forms But ask not
The
me
if I
It straight
Woke
its
in
own
its
counterpart,
echo, roused a tone its
own,
made, the instant that
We loved,
ratify the
One
it
it
shone,
gazed upon.
as few have loved before,
'Chance none
To
;
any heart
had worked
Mirror of what
'
it
returned
In perfect concert with
"
that gaze on
love with which his being burned.
His passion such,
And
19
;
and
lo
!
the hour drew nigh
vows we swore
night beneath the sky,
Before the solemn altar-rails C 2
2O
Lcszko the Bastard.
O'er which
Who !
is
woman doomed
love, or lust, she
And She
hangs, pierced through with nails r
for our sins did die.
Oh why The
He
cannot share
hear from alien
fain herself
to bear
lips
;
the sighs
would waken
ne'er,
Save within kindred hearts and eyes
Never by word, nor
glance, nor e'en
That barren courtesy we give
Unto Did
all
things that
live,
his detested rival glean
That
Not But,
well nigh
I
another's
homage should
greet, as evil is
had
my
by good.
heart been free as
air,
Fickle as wind, as quick to take
Impression as some limpid lake
?
A
That every wanton breath can
How Who
had
nor
I,
brood
my
country been undone
nor
false,
to Poland,
nor
Than
and
to
him fight,
rather torn been limb from limb,
share with such love's last delight
answered
For
?
light,
yearned for Poland's wrongs to
Had
I
been by one
livery of the
free,
Bound both
Who
stir,
with hands in blood imbrued,
Thrice had
But
ruffled
it
wore the
By whom,
21
Tale of Polish Grief.
in
softly,
not in scorn
what guise
soe'er
it
;
come,
Because of gentle longings born,
Love should leave indignation dumb. But he was,
like his shifty race,
Disloyal, cunning, vengeful, base,
!
22
Lcszko the Bastard.
And when Love
Even
in
he heard the
of fate,
lips
him straightway turned
my
before
He menaced me He knew my
face
to hate,
!
with vengeance
dire.
lover, brother, sire,
All rebels to the core.
And
in the rush of lustful ire,
By
his schismatic saints
he swore,
That
ruin, exile, death,
"\Yith
speedy stroke upon them
Unless I
knew
He
I
it
should
fall
all,
fed his foul desire.
was no
idle boast
had the power
Abetted by a
;
to fetter, slay,
servile host,
Perjured, suborned
by bribes
to say
Whatever falsehood pleased him most.
A Yet then
I
Tale of Polish Grief.
bridled not
But poured upon All that by
When
my
scorn,
his dastard
woman
23
can be
head
said,
she confronts, before her eyes,
Creature created to despise,
And,
since of manlier
Can only wish him "
Beware "
" !
weapons shorn,
dead.
he croaked, with passion hoarse,
Within your patriot arms
shall
lie,
Repelled or \velcomed, none but
And what you now You
;
to love deny,
yet shall yield to fear or force."
With scorn yet
fiercer
than at
and bade him work
I
flashed,
"
Before to-morrow's sun hath
He
I
answered,
"
I
shall
first
his worst.
set,"
pay the debt
Lcszko the Bastard.
24
Of vengeance, never Think not I
to foil
me
or to
ever do the thing
Then laughing
baffled yet.
would."
I
loud, he
went
Hated the ground where
"
'
The Night
And
lay
!
fly
encamped
;
and
late
he stood.
in the
had waited the hour and
And
crept out noiselessly.
The
air
Except
And
was as
sky,
;
I,
lifted
the latch,
silent as love or death,
for the beat of
my
quickened breath,
once the lonely belated wail
Of an answered I
summer
the burning stars kept watch
All were asleep upon earth save
Who
I
nightingale.
dared not quicken
my
steps, for fear
A The
Tale of Polish Grief.
silence should listening be,
and
25
hear.
Slowly, stealthily, foot by foot.
Girding
my
garments tightly round,
Lest they should touch and I
On
tell
the ground,
threaded the laurel-walk and passed to the latchet-gate,
hand on the creaking key, aghast
My
Lest the
Through
With
!
first
stage of flight should prove the
and out
in the
meadows beyond,
the cooling grass -dews round
Which would But too
Over
and put
tell
the tale of
late to hinder its
my
my journey
feet,
fond,
purpose sweet
;
the narrow and swaying planks
That span the neck of the marish pool
Where
And
the
tall spear-lilies
close their ranks,
the water-hens nestle safe and cool.
last.
26
Lcszko the Bastard.
Then
into the gloomy,
Where
the trunks
darksome wood
seemed ghosts, and the big
boughs stood
As though Woman's
they would block
love
is
my
stronger than woman's fright,
And though dogged by dread, yet What
I
ne'er
way.
I
faced that night
had faced by day.
the blessed break, and the blank without,
From 1
each grinning bole and each staring leaf
clutched It
And
my
temples, and gave a shout
was mad, but
it
brought
then with a saner fear
To know
if
my
I
foolish cry
But, like to a stream
relief.
stopped
was heard.
where a stone
was only a moment
The
silence
And
stillness closed
;
is
dropped,
stirred,
over the hazard word.
?
A "
'
I
was there
My
!
in the
garden where
27
first I
lent
ear to the trembling music of love,
And my I
Talc of Polish Grief.
soul
was there
And
the
!
succumbed
to its blandishment.
could smell the syringa's scent
I
lilac
plumes that loomed dark abover
But, like to the heart that keeps alway
True
to
Was
its
when
friends,
lending the night that hid from view
Its delicate tufts
and tender hue,
Odours sweeter than
The laburnum
And But I
A
I
friends betray,
tassels
e'en
by
clay.
brushed
my
cheek,
the tangled clematis clutched
hurried along
;
though
was strengthened by
moment more, and Hard by
the
I
my
my
hair
limbs were
despair.
should be
window where he
slept.
;
weak r
Lcszko the Bastard.
:28
How If
should
I
wake him
another o'erheard
how
?
my
should
voice
?
I
flee,
crept
Softly, silently, over the sward.
The
walls
were dark, and the windows barred, Yes, 'twas he
All saving
Leaning out of
!
'twas he
!
his casement, lowly
Singing a love-song, sweetly, slowly,
That he
first
He
me
saw
had sung
He
not.
to me.
was gazing
Across the dark, mysterious
At At
infinite
I
finite
stood,
thing
and
fair,
something around, above,
With which, when
The
air,
the shining stars, at the solemn sky,
the unattainable far and
The
free
we
alone,
we
identify
love.
listened,
and drank each note
A Of
love that
As
it
And
*
as
it
have not time
floated
and died
resolve would shrink,
with the song replied.
instant,
The
night, the dark, the
And
all
And
all
that
that
and the echoed song,
was of
far
heavens bare,
and
was of sweet and
Seemed gathered
And
;
to think,
One
into
showered their magic on
close to
mine as
fair,
strong,
one embrace,
His arms were round me, and
As
throat,
impulse whispers the blessed thing
From which
"
it fell,
29.
then with that courage that oft will spring
When we
I
came from the yearning
rose, as
And
Tale of Polish Grief.
life
my
face.
his breath
to death.
30
Lcszko the Bastard.
He murmured
things
For
I
was deaf with
Dumb, I
too
;
could not hear,
I
and
bliss
fear.
in vain I strove to
speak
;
could but lean on breast and cheek,
And
my
prove
He
drew me
passion wildly weak.
was dumb,
I still
in.
Panting for words that would not come,
But only tears
And
broken
With which
syllables,
Why
"
There
is
O
come
!
and throbs,
whom
rapture robs
come
" ?
I
heard him say.
no hour of night or day, of thy worshipped feet
make
not
sobs,
love's delirium.
hast thou
The coming Would
and
hearts beat,
Of all save "
instead,
come
richer or
!
come
!
more sweet. Yes,
come alway
!
A
Talc of Polish Grief.
Nay, never come, love I
!
rather, stay
must or miss you, or not meet
Absence
And
I
But why
is
and presence
long,
am
dead,
fleet
"
The
in his face
terror in
!
saw
I
?
Love's brightness overcast by awe
And terror
!
;
when thou away and here
to-night,
3
;
o'ercame
my weakened
Till listening to his voice,
I
frame
;
caught
Contagion from his steadier thought,
And
found at length the words
With
rapid lips
What had The The
I
told
befallen
him
might
I
sought.
all,
befall
hateful lust, the lustful hate,
threats of one who, well he knew,
If false in love, in
wrath was
true,
1
Lcszko the Bastard.
32
And "
our impending
'Twas
this alone
And, Leszko I
I
now
!
murmured with a
Round me
his
fate.
came
'tis told,
arms he "
"
The
base assassins of our
By
farewell
" !
tightly flung,
"
!
tell,
faltering tongue.
And
Never
to
cried.
Thy
faith shall foil
soil.
the harmonious orbs that shine,
To-night, within that
What
dome
divine,
thou hast promised me, must be mine
Before to-morrow's sun can sink,
May And
deeds be done
I
vengeance wreaked
If thus
To-night
would not name, I
dare not think.
you went, 'twere vain you came! is
ours, and, seized, will
Ours, ours, through
all eternity.
be
I
A
Tale of Polish Grief.
The dawn
shall find us kneeling
Passion
purified
is
by prayer
hands of patriot priest
And
bind our premature caress.
we
are parted then,
One, one Hate,
in
lust,
we
where
;
And
If
33
shall bless
part,
body, breast, and heart.
and tyranny,
in vain
Will strive to snap the cherished chain
That we around ourselves have bound.
Vanda If
!
more be
my
love
in love's
!
my
wife
!
my more
!
language found,
Let them not baulk the troth we swore
Wed me And
!
with bonds not fiends can sever,
be thou mine
--
The winds
%
of the
if
-*
once
for ever --
morn began
-55-
to
stir,
" !
-5'c
Leszko the Bastard.
34
And
the stars began to pale
We could feel And
the chill of the
dreams,
its
We started The
up.
We
its
delight.
listened,
heard
;
and more
longer,
every copse began to
With music
shrill,
fill
piercing bitter,
fell,
discord of our forced farewell.
We clung one Then "
dangers,
then another still-
Louder and
The
air,
face of the shrinking night,
pipe of an awaking bird
Another
Till
moving
the lifting of the veil
That covers the Its
;
moment, panted,
bravely rending
Back through the
Vanda
!
my
love
us,
curling !
my
kissed,
he cried
morning
life
!
my
mist,
bride
!
A A
Talc of Polish Grief.
35
few brief hours, and side by side
Before Heaven's altar
As now Then
we
shall stand,
then one in hand,
in heart,
be the future blest or curst
Let Poland's tyrants wreak their worst
One
one more kiss
" !
"
The
richest of all
!
We leaned,
'
boons that
But paused, half given
!
to give
live,
.
.
.
We
each had
heard
A
sound that was no waking
Nor
bird,
stealthy footfall of the night,
Scudding the unseen tracks of
The
noise of
Upon
human
our ears
Came
;
flight.
voices broke
the words they spoke
nearer and more near. D
2
Lcszko the Bastard.
36
We
clung in silence
To more And
'twas too late
;
than bide the feet of
face
them without
Loudest among them
The
voice
I
I
fate,
fear.
could trace
hated most on earth
Another moment, and
;
his face,
Lit with vindictiveness and mirth,
Was
gazing on our checked embrace.
His myrmidons were I
did not shrink,
But closer clung,
I
at his heel
did not
to
reel,
make him
I
loathed him and his alien race.
I
know no more. I
Unarmed we
heard the clank of ordered
Then suddenly a
flung,
and
feel
stood,
steel,
blinding hood
Over my head was
:
I,
A
Talc of Polish Grief.
Powerless to struggle, see, or
37
cry,
Felt myself wrenched from arms that fain
Had
fenced
my
freedom, but in vain,
And, doubtful did he Borne through the Bound,
"
She
stifled,
paused,
live or die,
chilly
morning
cooped with
and
dumb
strove
air, '
despair
for
breath,
though
The mere remembrance Though
fled
of that hour,
and faded long ago,
Retained the never-dying power
To
choke and
And
leave her
But mute no
The
stifle
her again,
dumb and
less I sate
horror in
my
;
dark, as then.
and she
stare could see,
!
as
Leszko the Bastard.
38
The
speechless,
open-mouthed suspense,
That kept me gazing If
Or
there, to
had heard the worst from woe,
I
must prepare
if I
my
sense
For outrage deeper, more
And
O
no
The '
O
' !
The
!
strong.
she cried, for swift she guessed
hell of
no
anguish in
not that
of
my
my
breast
My boy
I
child of love
Memento
The
intense,
from extremity of wrong
Become invulnerably '
know
thou art
!
and not of
only mate
;
hate,
!
birth of heart convulsed on heart
With rapture pure and
passionate
Though never more upon my His breast did
beat, his
!
breast
head did
rest
;
A Though
I
Tale of Polish Grief.
no more beheld his eye
Beaming above me
When
39
all is
like the
bright and
sky
all is
high,
And by
which gazed on, one
Though
ne'er again his touch, his breath,
Was
blent with mine, to
That something betwixt
When
feel
and death,
it
divine,
suffereth
;
other hand has soiled the shrine
And, Leszko
"
;
the converging senses reel,
Joy knows not what
My
blest
make me
life
And, through devotedness
No
is
senses, as
lost
my
!
though
it
yet mine, '
soul,
She saw the shadow But, as
lost,
;
kept thine
quit
!
my brow
crept away, the light
;
Lcszko the Bastard.
40
Seemed
to desert her temples
The hand
now.
she had imprisoned tight
In hers, while travelling wildly back
To She
passion's bourne o'er sorrow's track,
loosed,
and half
Hast heard,
'
let go.
Hast drunk, hast understood, each word/ Slowly she asked,
'
my
lips
have said
?
Ours was no sanctioned marriage-bed.
No
priestly blessing, altar's
rite,
Confirmed the nuptials of that
Leszko
!
'
thou art
"
That paused upon the
I
night.
;
Twas
not her tongue
bitter word,
But that before the name
I
heard
arms
I
flung
shrink not from,
Around her
my
sainted neck and showered
A The I
Tale of Polish Grief.
love with which
was
soul
stirred.
kissed her knees, her hands devoured, I
hushed her mouth,
I
sealed her eyes,
With
kisses blent with broken cries,
Such
as from baffled lips arise
When
bursting hearts are overpowered
With sense *
my
41
Mother
The
of sublime sacrifice.
' !
'
I
cried,
child of love,
Than bear
I'd
sooner be
and him, and
thee,
or boast the tightest ties
Altars can knit or priests devise
!
If love, faith, country cannot bind
Two
souls through love already blent,
Where among
mortals shall
Solemnity or Sacrament
And
were aught wanting
we
find
?
to complete
Leszko the Bastard.
42
In face of God's just judgment-seat,
Thy The
snapped-off love and
tyrant's outrage, years of wrong,
Have weaved
And made
"
life,
thee wedlock doubly strong, thee more than wife
She smoothed
my
hair,
' !
caressed
Consoling tears coursed
my brow
down her
Furrowed by sorrow's barren plough
She stroked 1
Yes, Leszko
my !
;
cheek, :
hand, she strove to speak
:
Holier bond was ne'er
Sanctioned by heaven or sealed by prayer.
Let others deem that formal vows Breathed between kneeling spouse and spouse,
Can Is
sanctify a link
where each
but the slave of ordered speech
;
A Where Are
Tale of Polish Grief.
vanity, ambition, greed,
the base instincts that precede
The
purest of the passions, sent
Life's desolate
Up
low steps to lead
to the star-thronged
Let others fancy,
if
they
firmament
Are sacramental bonds, though calculating coldness
The Let
smile,
guile
fill
hollows of the heart the while
those, too, scorn
;
will,
That pomp, and compliment, and
And
43
me who
;
have knelt
In fancied faithfulness, and sworn
The
eternal troth they thought they
But, soon as they were
One
to
whose
Not more
left to
flesh their flesh
in marriage-sheet
felt,
mourn
they vowed
than shroud,
Leszko
44
tlie
Bastard.
After a few short trappings worn
To
silence the censorious crowd,
Have
let their facile feelings
Unto some second
melt
fancy, nursed
In the same lap where burned the
Let them
Me
unto him
life,
;
!
'Twas love alone
and not the grave,
not death, shall e'er deprave
The body Not mine a
that remains his own.
fault for
By Heaven
which
a suppliant need to be
To
any,
And
I
to crave
or mortal to be shriven.
If I
'tis,
!
Nor pomp nor pandars gave
!
Anointed us
Not
first
my
boy, to thee
by thee am
all
!
forgiven
!
A "
'
Yet Its
I
45
that night of shining joy
yet
shadow
am
And
Tale of Polish Grief.
not,
I
flings
athwart thy
life
can ne'er be wife,
thou art no one's son, our boy
His name
I
gave
!
and despite
thee,
Their jugglery of wrong and It shall
;
right,
thou bear, whatever betide.
But who can give thee aught beside Bastard thou art It
!
and thou canst
?
claim,
boots not what thy blood, thy fame,
Thy
father's features,
Only a bastard's But,
Leszko
!
manly
age,
heritage.
who would
care to boast
All that the rightful covet most
Who, who would wish Honour, or rank, or
to clutch
;
and hold
lands, or gold,
Leszko the Bastard.
46
When
A
lands,
and gold, and rank, but be
brighter badge of slavery
?
They who have nothing may excuse Submission to the tyrant's beck
Too
;
bare and beggared to refuse
Unsavoury morsel from the hand
That plants the heel upon the neck
Of their
assassinated land.
But they who yet have aught Base must they be
What
still is left
The mourning Be
if
to lose,
they can use
to them, to
deck
of their country's wreck.
sure thy sire doth not retain
What would Of me,
How
but aggravate his pain.
of love,
when
would he care
dispossessed,
to
keep the
rest
?
A Robbed
Tale of Polish Grief.
of
my
But emptiness
Vacuous
tore
With
it
arms, his arms would find in all behind,
and moaning wind.
air
Who
47
me from
him, must have torn
long since the worldly dregs
Easy resigned by him who begs
That death
And
"
'
him be kind,
at least to
bans the day that he was born
Nay, ask not
if
he
lives.
I
!
know
Nothing, since that cold dawn of woe.
Once more
The
had
to hear,
and
bear,
vengeful menace, lustful prayer,
Of one who
He
I
sued, but
would not
spare.
threatened he would blazen wide
That which he dared
to call
my
shame.
Lcszko the Bastard.
48
Guess how
I
answered
!
I
defied,
Exulted, and with patriot pride
Told him that
Would trumpet
Had done
I
myself to fame
forth the
deed that
to foil the treachery
Already hatching, and by
He
"
'
alas
'Twas over,
Familiar
!
had sealed
I
quick.
whom
!
his reply.
my
doom.
saw no more
face, or roof, or floor,
Or anything
My
That was
cursed me.
But mine,
I
I
knew
before.
eyes were bandaged, limbs were bound,
As through rough Aware but
distance on
we wound,
of the unseen ground
We traversed
ever,
day and
night.
A
Talc of Polish Grief.
At length they gave me back my
And
lo
The
desert steppe, inhuman, bare,
!
gazed around
face,
might recognize
A
that
I
some kindred
in this desert place. all
I
saw,
I
knew;
never one among them threw pitying glance on me.
desolate
Have
it
seemed,
thankful been
Before
vow
if
I
should
there had stood
me even he
\Yho thuswise had I
some
for
Some woe
But none of
So
me
look,
And
;
stare for stare.
Some answering
Even
sight
there stretched before, around,
That answered me with I
49
my
to you, his face
ruin wrought. I
sought,
guise,
Lcszko the Bastard.
5O
Among Xo
the convoy, early,
no
face,
fiend,
my
late.
exiled fate
Could now or better make or worse
And
it
Could
I
And
**
'
A
to
me
relief
:
had brought
have seen him, but
to hate,
greeted, but to curse
!
mute and melancholy band,
For days and weeks we journeyed
on.
Across a bare and level land,
On
which the
But whence Utterly, as
Dawn It
all life
sun ever shone,
and growth were gone,
from salt-steeped strand.
after
seemed
fierce
to
dawn, the steppe stretched round
have no
halt,
no end,
Centre, circumference, nor bound,
A No
sight,
Tale of Polish Grief.
no shade, no
But ever we appeared Into eternal exile,
To make
Now
to
scent,
no sound
1
;
wend
doomed
the endless track
over sand,
5
now
we
trod,
scanty sod,
\Yhere nought save blight and canker bloomed.
Though on we Further
we
gasped, no goal was gained
went, further remained,
As when thought Save
that, instead,
Towards
r
We And
to
God
:
go
woe.
but each alone.
durst not with each other speak,
but exchanged a tear or groan.
The
And
we seemed
infinity of
Many we w ere,
struggles after
to
strong might not assist the weak,
be child or
woman gave E 2
;
Lcszko the Bastard.
52
No
privilege or power, save
To
suffer
more and be more brave.
So wretched were we, we could
A
lighter load of wretchedness
And when Began
;
sun
at last the cruel
to pity us,
bless
and leave
In sleep our pain a short reprieve,
We
almost
We knew
felt
our griefs were done.
not they had scarce begun.
Into another land
we
passed,
Drearier and deader than the
last,
That knows no
past,
future
and no
But only one fixed present
Where Nothing
And
!
land
nothing waxeth more or
is
born and nothing
less,
dies,
where, 'neath never-changing skies,
A
Tale of Polish Grief.
E'en frozen time
itself
doth stand
Immutable and motionless
A
And
freeze the blood, congeal the mind,
harden
man
against
Region of death that But ever on
its
icy
is
mankind
Forbid to
live,
And, as
bed
In vain
I
!
used to pray and pine
leave
On
forbid to die
of deathlessness in death.
The greedy
And
lie,
doom, such too seemed mine,
its
The doom
:
not dead,
Lies dying, and must ever
'
!
land of snow and snow-fed wind,
Which
"
53
cold would suck
my empty
my
breath,
husk to bleach
the untrodden waste of white,
Lcszko the 23astard.
54
And draw Or
"
'
the prowling jackal's screech,
give the wolf one foul delight.
One
night, as, prostrate in despair
At each unanswered I
tear
and prayer,
blasphemed God, and wildly sware
That
Me
if
at least
would not give
would no longer
I
death,
He
live,
But would myself the torture end,
That had nor change, nor hope, nor
Sudden I
I
started,
gave a cry
seemed as changed
Oh And
!
joy
I
!
then for worlds
'Twas thou
!
I
from stone
my more
!
:
alone.
would not die
'twas thou
In joylessness
;
to flesh
was no more
friend,
my
babe
than joy
!
!
!
my
boy
!
A more
My
hell
Talc of Polish Grief.
my
knees
I
prayed forgiveness for
What now
My
to
me
more
or ache
The memory
fell,
my
sin.
or cold or heat,
shivering head,
Hunger
I
'mid
!
Weeping, upon
And
heaven
than
55
?
I
my
burning
feet,
held within
of that midnight sweet.
had no thought
for things without
:
Sensation, suffering, struggle, doubt,
Each sense wherewith we
Was
My
And
hear, see,
concentrated inwardly
aim was how
That
feel,
to feed the root
in the silence 'gan to shoot,
pulsed with promise of the
Sometimes,
in fresh access of
fruit.
woe,
than
Lcszko
56
Hope
Bastard,
tlic
veered, and longed that thou and
Lay underneath
warm
the snug,
Together, and with none to
But swung back
From
desperation's gusty
snow,
know
ever, true
;
and high,
strife,
Pointing from love and set towards
'
*
You
lived !'.,.'
Tell
me no more
The
Pride, love,
And,
let
and
what
No wrong my From your
!
and
now we
exile, side
will of
!
here
I
cried,
cannot bear
grief,
not enough that
life
'
mother I
!
and
tale of love,
Is't
O
by
wrong
pride.
share
side
?
betide-.
youth, at least, shall tear,
soft
I
hand and
'
silver}- hair
!
A "
'
Talc of Polish Grief.
What, Leszko
Her 1
voice
quit
my
My
my
living",
I
said,
fled
know,
haunt you dead
side, luxurious
boy
?
!
almost joy,
is
hopes of husband
!
fled,
interrupted marriage-bed,
charge you, bid you, not to
To
she
were
shrink from pain without alloy
]>y all
I
'
!
told this tale of woe,
I
Share anguish that
To
tears
your love for me,
stir
Will hold you
Not
Leszko's son
was grave, her
Think you
To
!
57
me. to love, to anything
Not
leave
me
The mawkish Not
What
!
kiss, the
cling,
!
is this I
hear
?
vapid tear, '
flashing eye
She pushed me
and springing spear '
off.
It
cannot be
!
:
Lcszko
llic
Bastard.
His patriot seed and mine
Thou
And
art
some
channeling" o o
I
see.
!
Go, then, o ^o
!
hunt the lynx across the snow,
And when
the blue-eyed scyllas blow,
Gather thereof a dainty bunch,
To woo some
daughter of the
foe,
While jackals and hyenas crunch
Thy
No
country's flesh
flowers, of all
Spring used to know,
Save such as mourn
For Poland,
I
and bones, and bloom
o'er Poland's
from him was
For Poland, he from me
tomb
torn,
But thou
!
Thou, thou forsooth, must cling on now, I
.ike infant that,
from threatened hurt
Flies whimpering, to thy mother's skirt,
Dead unto duty
as to scorn
!
!
A
Tale of Polish Grief.
59
Bastard, indeed, thoti doubly wert,
And
both
knelt
I
!
me down
towards the ground
;
I
bowed my head
I
did not dare to raise
But when '
Mother
Nor
at last
my
'
cried,
bastard,
and
lowly guise.
my
voice
'
I
!
in
I
am
his
But gazing on thy holy I all
wast
thou
that
'
born
"
shamed
are
I
eyes,
found,
not base,
blood
is
mine
;
face,
forgot a woe, a wrong,
Sadder, more sacred, e'en than thine.
But now thy strength hath made
And
in
And
my in
me
features thou shalt trace,
my
soul, that
I
belong
strong,
6o
Leszko the Bastard.
Unto a noble name and race/
Of
voice or gaze.
my
melting in
\Yhen
*
There was no sign
stood up straight.
I
'
shall
I
go
?
'
I
said,
The ways
Are not more ready stretched than
To
start at once, to run, to
I
fly,
Whither thy sharp reproaches point Mother, farewell I
the blood of Poland
feel
She
is
'
mother
my
Can
"
In every joint
!
lonely
!
I
live, will
for her
lonely
Kneel then once more But
Her
this
face
Her
stir.
die.*
' !
she
said.
time with unbending brow.
fawned towards me, and
lips
I
upon me, tender now.
I
felt
knelt,
A She took the Passed (
I
'
Talc of Polish Grief.
cross from off her breast,
cord softly o'er
its
have no sv/ord to
But you
That now
Among
thick
my she
give,'
though
said,
-
the forests where, once more, strife,
liberates with lavish gore,
Awhile, the fever of Listen
its life.
There shortly
!
Two
start
from hence
fresh battalions of the foe,
For Poland bound.
To
:
baffled, blest
Poland renews the hopeless
And
head
one 'mong the dead
will find
lie
61
They
doubtless go
aid their kindred's violence.
You must march Nay,
start not
Aye, boy
!
!
must
with them o'er the snow.
must
their colours wear,
false allegiance
swear
62
Lcszko the Bastard.
To
their detested Pontiff-Czar
Such
perjuries,
Not heard
And
if
I tell
!
thee, are
Heaven's just judgment-bar.
at
thy lips abhor the
lie,
'
so do
Poland absolves thee
"
The hour had
We
We
stood,
!
come, and face to face
my
mother, there, and
did not fondle nor embrace
She did not weep, I
I
I
I.
;
did not sigh.
wore the trappings of the race
That battens upon Poland's heart So, well
I
Unfolded I
1
knew
;
that uncaressed,
to her craving breast,
from her must depart.
Have you
'
the cross
?
she asked.
I
laid
A My
Talc of Polish Grief.
hand where
'gainst
But did not speak.
Brood on
it,
my
heart
it
Both night and day,
'
as a constant
maid
Broods on the face that cannot
When It
he who loves her
is
away
fade,
!
was the one dumb thing on earth
That spoke
me
to
the only one,
;
Dead, that was eloquent of birth
So have I
lay,
have no
No
I
given
it
gift of his,
thee,
no
trinket, trifle, leaf,
Naught But
it
to
remind
was on
night,
Was
'twixt his
Go, now
!
my
when
That
me
it,
of
my
;
son
!
toy,
nor flower,
my joy.
breast that hour,
and
it
alone,
bosom and my own.
And
I
will nightly
pray
Lcszko the Bastard.
64
The ""Queen \Yhen
And
bitter
She
And
then
And
left
"
we may
Why
!
went without
the rest
How
*
way
caress,
?
Too
well
all
you know,
lent
no blow
our wasted gore,
Poland, maddened, rose once more,
blindly struck at friend
should
The Virgin
is
of Florence.
I tell
and
foe.
the tale, too long
!
regarded by the Poles as Queen of Poland, in the same
as, in 1529, Christ
;
you, free child of Freedom's shore,
In aid of
Why
!
raised her hands to bless
That spurred our hopes, but
And
'
day
her to her loneliness.
tell
Ah
I
meet,
has been turned to sweet,
earthly dark to heavenly
bent.
I
of Poland,
was elected and proclaimed, by the Great
(.'onncil,
A Of the weak
Tale of Polish Grief.
writhing 'gainst the strong,
Pricked by reiterated wrong
The orphaned The sudden The
65
?
pillows, rifled roofs,
rush of trampling hoofs,
reeking village, blazing town
;
The
perjured charge, the traitor's mesh,
The
virgin's lacerated flesh
The
wail of childhood, helpless
Frenzy
itself
had stepped
;
fair,
to spare
Priests at the altar stricken
;
down,
Mingling their blood with that of Christ,
While
sacrificing, sacrificed
Chaste spouses of the
From earth, and from
;
cloister,
weaned
Earth's passions screened.
Shrieking beneath the clutch of fiend,
And
outraged, less from lust than hate,
66
Lcszko the Bastard.
In refuges inviolate.
Enough Its
!
demons
The
Had
Hell broke loose, and sent
forth,
on man
to vent
tortures God's maligners feign
Heaven vents on
Have
them, they
would
in vain
striven to paragon the pain
Poland's oppressors
knew
to
wreak
Upon
the sensitive and weak,
When
we, the strong, their strength defied,
And
"
I
Freedom,
was too
But straight
And joined
Who
late.
I
foiling despots, died.
'Twas nearly
o'er
sloughed the garb
one
last
I
wore,
determined band,
to the border forests clung
That sever from the
;
Tartar's
hand
A
Tale of Polish Grief.
67
That share of our partitioned land
Which owns a Keeping
We did No
!
more
rule
at least
its
creed and tongue.
not think with fate to cope
me
vengeance to
We were pursued by one
I
mercy or heard,
'Twas
As
he,
who gave
to faint or brave
and knew
whose
lust
his
:
name.
had torn apart heart,
far as hatred can.
We lay
in
ambush
could not
We He
;
came.
For ever loving heart from
And
and bland,
vengeance was our only hope,
And
No
just
fly,
;
they were caught,
so mercy sought.
slew them, to a
fell
to
me
!
One
man
!
thrust
I
made,
68
Leszko the Bastard.
And I
at
my
I
saw him
sucked the blood from Christ
Than
Or
*'
feet
It
!
it
was sweet
off
my
blade
:
aye, sweeter far
the glow of the evening star
last
Across the
A gap
blow
frontier,
!
We
struck.
fled
each as best
could gain, and
left
the dead
stock the unclean raven's nest.
Exile once more, though
Henceforth lay open to
my
all
the earth
tread,
All save the one that gave I
:
the smile of home, than the kiss of maid r
was the
To
!
laid
me
birth,
saw no goal except the one Where,
sitting
The mother
mute
in
deepest dearth,
waited for the son.
A But how
And
I
?
started
Day
Tale of Polish Grief.
donned the
69
pedlar's pack,
on the trackless
track,
after day, league after league,
Fatigue slow-linked with slow fatigue,
But ever getting nearer back
Unto the Sat
me.
patiently, awaiting
And
there was yet another sight
my
Behind, to spur
The
foe,
And
And
the fiend,
I
flagging tread
laid
I
it
have borne at
my
And made my raved.
!
his hated head,
mother's feet
The very thought
:
felled in fight,
gloated over, dead
Could
I
where she
larch-log fire
!
fresh vigour gave,
final footsteps fleet.
You deem
that
still I
rave.
Leszko the Bastard.
jo
What think you that
"
Back, back across the cruel waste,
Her tomb
An
behind,
my
life
before
Not
e'en a rock 'gainst
vista of
Rather than
Such misery
And woo And
I,
That
since I
to find a shore,
which
to break
unending ache,
Trod and endured
for
live
fresh
no one's sake
woe
will
make,
misfortune for a friend. it
could
I
without some end,
was vain find,
to
hope
where'er
I
ran,
Solace or happiness, began
For
;
ebbing wave that raced and raced,
But ne'er could hope
A
Her
they found ?
further wretchedness to grope.
:
grave.
A Now
other object had
From
rise of
Except
Though
Or
Tale of Polish Grief.
I
none,
to set of sun,
day
to seek
well
I
my
knew
sire
I
should not
finding, curse the fate
That baulked not
And
fate
was
;
my
find,
unkind
desire.
ruthless to the
last.
Five years of bootless search had passed,
And Her I
still I
But when on
sought.
fire,
roofs delirious Paris saw,
found him stretched on sordid straw.
He
had not fought
for
crowd or law
:
Sooth, had he wished, he could not draw
A
sword from scabbard now, nor His body from
His brackish
life
its
lift
borrowed bed.
was ebbing
swift.
7
1
Lcszko the Bastard.
72
He who
had eaten beggar's bread,
And known That
each sad and sordid shift
just sustains the exile's tread,
Needed no more I
knelt
And
the stranger's gift
me down
beside his head,
breathed her name into his
There came no
start,
ear.
no word, no tear
:
His brain was deaf; he did not know
The
difference
now
'twixt joy
and woe,
''Twixt love and hate, 'twixt friend and foe,
'Twixt
My
me and any
I
Vain
!
years of search and sought-for pain.
Yet not
A
other
quite vain.
silver locket
stretched
'Gainst
it
my
Upon
hung
hand
to
;
his breast
and when it,
he pressed
his own, nor loosed again,
A
Tale of Polish Grief.
Until he passed I
took
it
And Not
lo
as
But
when
I
With eyes
And
his grasp
knew
in the
all
to rest.
away
was
it
!
my
her,
grew
glow of youth and grace,
of heaven and hair of gold, the passion of her race.
and
I
put her cross there in
it
The
iron cross
And
iron, too
And
who
!
its
;
rusted chain.
the fitting
for
place
indeed
me where
!
:
!
meed
wronged Poland
ever bleed in vain
bear
its
yes, cross
" Rise quick, ye winds
And
!
blanched and old,
wear
those
cold,
mother's face
I
Of
73
bleed,
!
Race
blue
swift,
Danube
ye waves rolls,
!
Lcszko the Bastard.
74
Past Orsova's loud-foaming caves,
On
armed hosts of
'twixt
To
scatter
rival slaves,
among Euxine
shoals.
Now, do you ask why hence
To join
My poor On
the
weak
those
I
fly
Moslem camp, and life,
foredoomed
who Freedom's
to die,
flag unfurl
For Christian boor and Sclavic
Out on
the sacrilegious
Robbers, assassins,
Whose
lie
liars,
feet are fresh
hurl
churl
!
slaves
!
from outraged graves
Let those among you, dupes, or worse, Sucklings of falsehood, or
its
nurse,
Believe that Russian arms can bear
To
?
others aught except a share
In chains themselves consent to wear
!
!
A Let them
Storm I
!
Tale of Polish Grief.
But
hell,
would the
I
!
75
Did Tartar swords
and Turkish infernal
steel defend,
Cause befriend
Against the worse than demon hordes
Who
to the
And
enter Hell, to
damned would bring
make
it
fresh curse,
worse
" !
THE END.
LONDON
:
BRADBURY, AGNEW,
CO.,
PRINTERS, WHITEFKIAKS.
YC160673
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