_Poem on the Grave_ (Vol. iii., p. 372.).--A correspondent in your No.
of May 10th, signed A. D., wishes to be informed of the author of "The
Grave," a very beautiful poem; and he gives a portion of it thus:--
"_1st Voice._
"How peaceful the grave, its quiet how deep,
Its zephyrs breathe calmly, and soft is its sleep,
And flow'rets perfume it with ether."
"_2nd Voice._
"How lonesome the grave, how deserted and drear,"
(From what I remember of the poem, this stanza flows on thus):--
"With the howls of the storm wind, the creaks of the bier,
And the white bones all clattering together."
This poem extends to fifteen or twenty stanzas, and is exquisite in its
imagery, and peculiarly forcible (its author was a Russian, I think
Derzhavin), and in its original language might compare with the works of
the most polished poetry of advanced nations. It can be found translated
in Bowring's _Russian Anthology_, 12mo., published about 1824: where
also will be found some beautiful translations from _Lomonosoff_, "Or
Broken Nose," and other Russian poets. Derzhavin also has his grandest
poem on God, translated there: this poem is popular in no less than
thirty-six languages, and is familiar to the Chinese and Tartar nations,
and even as far as Southern India. I give the exordium, which is
noble:--
"O Thou Eternal One, whose presence bright
All space doth occupy, all motion guide;
Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight;
Thou only God! There is no God beside!"
And in a further portion of the poem, describing Heaven as the abode of
God, he speaks thus:
"What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light,
A glorious company of golden streams,--
Lamps of celestial ether burning bright,--
Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams?"
I think I have quoted sufficient to direct A. D.'s attention to the
northern poets, who, though few in number, make up their deficiency in
quantity by the sterling and magnificent quality of their works.