The Talisman from the Russian of Alexander Pushkin With Other Pieces
Nonfiction, Religion & Spirituality, New Age, History, Fiction & Literature
| Author: | George Henry Borrow | ISBN: | 9781465590381 |
| Publisher: | Library of Alexandria | Publication: | March 8, 2015 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | George Henry Borrow |
| ISBN: | 9781465590381 |
| Publisher: | Library of Alexandria |
| Publication: | March 8, 2015 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
Where fierce the surge with awful bellow Doth ever lash the rocky wall; And where the moon most brightly mellow Dost beam when mists of evening fall; Where midst his harem’s countless blisses The Moslem spends his vital span, A Sorceress there with gentle kisses Presented me a Talisman. And said: until thy latest minute Preserve, preserve my Talisman; A secret power it holds within it— ’Twas love, true love the gift did plan. From pest on land, or death on ocean, When hurricanes its surface fan, O object of my fond devotion! Thou scap’st not by my Talisman. The gem in Eastern mine which slumbers, Or ruddy gold ’twill not bestow; ’Twill not subdue the turban’d numbers, Before the Prophet’s shrine which bow; Nor high through air on friendly pinions Can bear thee swift to home and clan, From mournful climes and strange dominions— From South to North—my Talisman.
Where fierce the surge with awful bellow Doth ever lash the rocky wall; And where the moon most brightly mellow Dost beam when mists of evening fall; Where midst his harem’s countless blisses The Moslem spends his vital span, A Sorceress there with gentle kisses Presented me a Talisman. And said: until thy latest minute Preserve, preserve my Talisman; A secret power it holds within it— ’Twas love, true love the gift did plan. From pest on land, or death on ocean, When hurricanes its surface fan, O object of my fond devotion! Thou scap’st not by my Talisman. The gem in Eastern mine which slumbers, Or ruddy gold ’twill not bestow; ’Twill not subdue the turban’d numbers, Before the Prophet’s shrine which bow; Nor high through air on friendly pinions Can bear thee swift to home and clan, From mournful climes and strange dominions— From South to North—my Talisman.
