Contents
-BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD
Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Russia
John Gould Fletcher
862 A. D.
To R. N. Linscott I DARKNESS broods over the east, | Over the plain, the land of horses; | Darkness and wintry silence | And death. The Northmen enter Russia | But a blue-white light from the north | Suddenly flares up at midnight; | And in the glare, on the horizon, | A horseman rides alone.
| He sits on his great white horse; | A strong white bow is in his hands; | Beneath his gold-horned helmet | Thick braids of golden hair descend.
| He goes forth conquering and to conquer, | He goes forth seeking a golden crown— | From the frozen marshes of the north | To where the rivers bend south-eastward. Rurik, Sineus and Truvor and their descendants found great cities | A brood of lions follow him, | Shaggy-haired, with broad golden manes; | Eaters of sheep, | Founders of cities.
| In the depths of the steppe, | Upon the banks of broad golden rivers, | Facing south-westward, | The cities rise:
| Kiev with its golden domes | On which there stands the Cross, | Vladimir, Ryazan, Tver, | Novgorod, Moscow.
| Lord Novgorod the great | Looks to the north and east; | Moscow sits in the centre, | And dreams. The cities contend with each other for the mastery | The heroes go forth every morning | To battle with each other. | At night about the wine-board | They sit, feasting. 1224 A. D.
| II Out of the east | Comes the great dawn; | Red is the dawn, | Red and fearful. The Tatars suddenly invade Russia | From the south-east | Runs a red horse; | Foam drips from his bridle-bits, | His hoof withers the grass.
| Dark is the man | Who rides on him, | Clad in black armor, | Lean and yellow his face.
| He carries a great black sword | With which to smite the people; | He has power to take peace from the earth. | That men may kill each other.
| Under the yoke | The princes pass; | They are his oxen, | He their lord. Russia pays tribute to the Khan of the Western Mongols | Every day in the mills | The grain is ground; | Each day rich tribute | Goes to the Golden Horde. Whose capitol is on the Lower Volga | Down at Sarai | Is the camp of the Khan; | Wearily travel | The oxen thither.
| Down at Sarai | The great Khan sleeps, | But the claws of his falcons | Are fastened into the lion’s throat. 1380 A. D. The Tatars are defeated by the Princes of Moscow, who attain to great power
| III Noonday within the east, | Noonday and a loud sound of bells | Pealing and crying | That the Third Rome is born.
| Out of the great red gates | Of the Third Rome | Rides a man in scarlet | Mounted upon a black horse.
| A golden cross is on his breast, | A pair of scales is in his hand | With which to measure and fit the earth, | With which to weigh the people’s grain.
| A measure of wheat for a penny, | And three measures of barley for a penny. | See that thou hurt not oil or wine, | See that the land is tilled. And crush the remaining independent principalities | But woe to thee, city of Pskov! | Woe to thee, Lord Novgorod! | The weight of the law of the Third Rome | Shall break your liberty. Great expansion of the Muscovy power | Woe to thee, people of Rus, | Who set at nought the scales of law: | North, east, south, west, you shall wander, | But never find a home. 1603 A. D. “The Troublous Times”
| IV Darkness broods over the east, | Over the plain, that land of horses; | Darkness and wintry silence | And death.
| Far away to the west | Hangs a great crimson fire; | It is the sunlight departing | Over the plain. Rise of the House of Romanov: Peter the Great, 1689–1725 | Out of the west there rides | The horseman of the twilight, | The great pale horseman | Whose name is Death.
| And he carries in his hand | A lash of thongs; | And he has power to slay | With hunger.
| And the eagles of the west | Pass after him; | Sea-eagles unsated | Fan with their dark wings his face.
| Darkness settles faster | Upon the plain; | But the man on the gaunt grey horse | Rides on.
| On to the north | Where a blue-white light faintly glimmers | Over the black pine-forests, | Over the frozen seas. Founding of Petrograd, the third capital of Russia | Two cities have long ago fallen, | But there is one city to found yet— | A city of dreary phantoms, | A city of death.
| At the edges of the north, | At the borders of the locked sea, | The pale horse rears | And stands.
| Darkness, total darkness! | And in the darkness | Furiously from east to west | The winds go forth to battle. Oppressive rule—stirrings of revolt
| V But the souls of them that were slain | And buried beneath the granite | Rise up again at midnight | And cry their final cry:
| “How long, how long the darkness, | How long wilt not avenge us? | For here our blood is written | On every inch of soil;
| “For here our cause is crushed | Under the hoofs of proud horsemen; | For here our cause is forgotten, | Dead in the utter darkness.”
| So they cry all together, | And only the silence answers. | But the power of that silence | Has given them power to live.
| And they go out to the streets of the city, | To speak to all hearts at midnight, | How the last seal will be loosened, | The final trumpet blown. 1917 A. D. Revolution
| VI Dawn comes out of the east, | Dawn with a tumult of flying horses; | White clouds of springtime, | Careering, galloping.
| Stallion on stallion charging | Westward, to the horizon; | But in the midst of them | Rides Liberty unbound.
| Her tossing, golden hair | Is mingled with the sea of manes; | Her voice cries, “On, you wild ones, | Stop not nor falter!”
| Out of ten thousand trenches | A million weary eyes | Shall see her pass across the plains, | And cry, “Come faster!”
| A million starving ones | Shall smile at her, | Shall stretch out their cold hands to her | Before they die.
| A million broken ones | Shall make their bodies | The pathway for her feet;
| A million eager ones | Shall leap forth from their trenches | To follow her command.
| Like a white flame that gathers force | She shall fill all the land | With song of victory.
| Like the great flame of noon, | She shall spread out her wings; | And grant us all we longed for, could not find, | The peace surpassing human understanding.
March 16, 1917, 1.15 p. m.
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