Ivan le Terrible, etant dejà devenu vieux, assiégoit Novogorod. Les Boyards, le voyant affoibli, lui démanderent s'il ne voulait pas donner le commandement de l'assaut à son fils. Sa fureur fut si grande a cette proposition, que rien ne put l'appaiser; son fils se prosterna à ses pieds; il le repoussa avec un coup d'une telle voilence, que deux jours après le malheureux en mourut. Le père, alors au desespoir, devint indifferent à la guerre comme au pouvoir, et ne survécut que peu de mois a son fils.
DIX ANNEES D'EXIL, PAR MAD. DE STAEL.
He sat in silence on the ground,
The old and haughty Czar;
Lonely, though princes girt him round,
And leaders of the war:
He had cast his jewelled sabre,
That many a field had won,
To the earth beside his youthful dead,
His fair and first-born son.
With a robe of ermine for its bed,
Was laid that form of clay,
Where the light a stormy sunset shed,
Through the rich tent made way:
And a sad and solemn beauty
On the pallid face came down,
Which the lord of nations mutely watched
In the dust with his renown.
Low tones at last of woe and fear
From his full bosom broke;-
A mournful thing it was to hear
How then the proud man spoke!
The voice that through the combat
Had shouted far and high,
Came forth in strange, dull hollow sounds,
Burthened with agony.
"There is no crimson on thy cheek,
And on thy lip no breath,
I call thee—and thou dost not speak —
They tell me this is Death!
And fearful things are whispering
That I the deed have done—
For the honour of thy father's name,
Look up, look up, my son!
"Well might I know death's hue and mien;
But on thine aspect, boy!
What, till this moment, have I seen,
Save pride and tameless joy?
Swiftest thou wert to battle,
And bravest there of all—
How could I think a warrior's frame
Thus like a flower should fall?
"I will not bear that still, cold look ;—
Rise up, thou fierce and free!
Wake as the storm wakes!--I will brook
All, save this calm, from thee.
Lift brightly up and proudly,
Once more thy kindling eyes!
Hath my word lost its power on earth?
I say to thee, Arise!
"Didst thou not know I loved thee well?
Thou didst not! and art gone,
In bitterness of thought, to dwell
Where man must dwell alone.
Come back, young fiery spirit!
If but one hour, to learn
The secrets of the folded heart,
That seemed to thee so stern.
"Thou wert the first, the first fair child
That in mine arms I pressed,-
Thou wert the bright one, that has smiled
Like summer on my breast!
I reared thee as an eagle,
To the chase thy steps I led,
I bore thee on my battle-horse-
I look upon thee-dead!
Lay down my warlike banners here,
Never again to wave,
And bury my red sword and spear,
Chiefs! in my first-born's grave!
And leave me !-I have conquered,
I have slain-my work is done :
Whom have I slain!-Ye answer not-
Thou too art mute, my son!"
And thus his wild lament was poured
Through the dark resounding night;
And the battle knew no more his sword,
Nor the foaming steed his might.
He heard strange voices moaning
In every wind that sighed;
From the searching stars of Heaven he shrank—
Humbly the Conqueror died.
HOPE still will mount; no timorous fears
Her purpose can beguile;
And if she weeps, those short-lived tears
Will brighten to a smile.
So the gay skylark soars and sings,
To hail the orb of day;
And even the dews that wet her wings,
Soon glitter in the ray.
'Tis done! and shivering in the gale,
The bark unfurls her snowy sail;
And whistling o'er the bending mast,
Loud sings on high the freshening blast-
And I must from this land be gone,
Because I cannot love but one!
But could I be what I have been,
And could I see what I have seen,-
Could I repose upon the breast
Which once my warmest wishes blest,
I should not seek another zone,
Because I cannot love but one!
'Tis long since I beheld that eye
Which gave me bliss or misery;
And I have striven, but in vain,
Never to think of it again;
For though I fly from Albion,
I still can only love but one!
As some lone bird without a mate,
My weary heart is desolate;
I look around, and cannot trace
One friendly smile or welcome face:
And even in crowds I'm still alone,
Because I cannot love but one!
And I will cross the whitening foam,
And I will seek a foreign home;
Till I forget a false, fair face,
I ne'er shall find a resting place:
My own dark thoughts I cannot shun,
But ever love, and love but one!
The poorest, veriest wretch on earth
Still finds some hospitable hearth,
Where friendship's, or love's softer glow,
May smile in joy, or soothe in woe;
But friend or lover I have none,
Because I cannot love but one!
I go! but wheresoe'er I flee
There's not an eye will weep for me,
There's not a kind, congenial heart
Where I can claim the meanest part;
Nor thou, who hast my hopes undone,
Wilt sigh, although I love but one!
To think of every early scene
Of what we are, and what we've been—
Would whelm some softer hearts with woe:
But mine, alas! has stood the blow,
Yet still beats on as it begun,
And never truly loves but one!
And who that dear, loved one may be
Is not for vulgar eyes to see;—
And why that love was early crost,
Thou know'st the best-I feel the most:
But few that dwell beneath the sun
Have loved so long, and loved but one!
I've tried another's fetters, too,
With charms, perchance, as fair to view;
And I would fain have loved as well
But some unconquerable spell
Forbade my bleeding breast to own
A kindred care for aught but-one !
"T would soothe to take one lingering view, And bless thee in my last adieu;
Yet wish I not those eyes to weep
For him who wanders o'er the deep,-
Though wheresoe'er my bark may run,
I love but thee-I love but one!
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