Mazeppa
by
(“Ainsi, lorsqu’un mortel!”)
[XXXIV., May, 1828.]
As when a mortal–Genius’ prize, alack!
Is, living, bound upon thy fatal back,
Thou reinless racing steed!
In vain he writhes, mere cloud upon a star,
Thou bearest him as went Mazeppa, far
Out of the flow’ry mead,–
So–though thou speed’st implacable, (like him,
Spent, pallid, torn, bruised, weary, sore and dim,
As if each stride the nearer bring
Him to the grave)–when comes the time,
After the fall, he rises–KING!
Translated by H.L. WILLIAMS