Compress'd within his claw he holds a raven,

And its hot blood he sprinkles on the dry ground;

And beneath the bushes' clump - beneath the hazels,

Lies void of life the good and gallant stripling;

All wounded, pierc'd and mangled is his body.

As the little tiny swallow or the chaffinch,

Round their warm and cosey nest are seen to hover,

So hovers there the mother dear who bore him;

And aye she weeps, as flows a river's water;

His sister weeps as flows a streamlet's water;

His youthful wife, as falls the dew from heaven -

The Sun, arising, dries the dew of heaven.

Poems Translated by Ivan Panin POEMS AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL.

MON PORTRAIT.

Vous me demandez mon portrait,

Mais peint d'apres nature:

Mon cher, il sera bientot fait,

Quoique en miniature.

Je sais un jeune polisson

Encore dans les classes:

Point sot, je le dis sans facon

Et sans fades grimaces.

Onc, il ne fut de babillard,

Ni docteur de Sorbonne

Plus ennuyeux et plus braillard

Que moi-meme en personne.

Ma taille a celle des plus longs

Los n'est point egalee;

J'ai le teint frais, les cheveux blonds,

Et la tete bouclee.

J'aime et le monde, et son fracas,

Je hais la solitude;

J'abhorre et noises et debats,

Et tant soit peu l'etude.

Spectacles, bals me plaisent fort,