POLONIA. -- THE SAME.
POLONIA. Oh, stay,
Wandering from the path astray,
Hapless crowd, rash, indiscreet,
Turn away your erring feet,
For misfortune lies that way.
Here from myself with hurried footsteps flying,
I dared to treat this wilderness profound,
Beneath the mountain whose proud top defying
The pure bright sunbeam is with huge rocks crowned,
Hoping that here, as in its dark grave lying,
Never my sin could on the earth be found,
And I myself might find a port of peace
Where all the tempests of the world might cease.
No polar star had hostile fate decreed me,
As on my perilous path I dared to stray,
So great its pride, no hand presumed to lead me,
And guide my silent footstep on its way.
Not yet the aspect of the place has freed me
From the dread terror, anguish and dismay,
Which were awakened by this mountain's gloom,
And all the hidden wonders of its womb.
See ye not here this rock some power secureth,
That grasps with awful toil the hill-side brown,
And with the very anguish it endureth
Age after age seems slowly coming down?
Suspended there with effort, it obscureth
A mighty cave beneath, which it doth crown;--
An open mouth the horrid cavern shapes,
Wherewith the melancholy mountain gapes.*
[footnote] * "But I remember,
Two miles on this side of the fort, the road
Crosses a deep ravine; 'tis rough and narrow,
And winds with short turns down the precipice;
And in its depth there is a mighty rock
Which has from unimaginable years,
Sustained itself with terror and with toil
Over the gulf, and with the agony
With which it clings seems slowly coming down;
Even as a wretched soul hour after hour
Clings to the mass of life: yet, clinging, leans;
And leaning, makes more dark the dread abyss
In which it fears to fall.
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