Apollon Nikolayevich Maykov
Apollon Nikolayevich Maykov (or Maikov) (June 4 1821, Moscow – March 20 1897, Saint Petersburg) was a Russian poet, best known for his lyric verse, showcasing images of Russian villages, nature, and Russian history. His love for ancient Greece and Rome, which he studied for much of his life, is also reflected in his works. Maykov spent four years translating the epic The Tale of Igor's Campaign (1870) into the modern Russian, translated the folklore of Belarus, Greece, Serbia, Spain, as well as the works of Heine, Adam Mickiewicz and Goethe among others. Many of Maykov's poems were put to music by N. Rimsky-Korsakov and Tchaikovsky.
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Apollon Nikolayevich Maykov Poems
In Memory Of My Daughter
Clear on the night of my spirit, To me shines the glance of a star, It is she! My heart's little maiden! From her glance gleams something afar,
The Aeolian Harp
The land lies parched in sun,- to heaven the air is still, Hushed now upon the harp the golden strings' lost thrill; Aeolian harps our native singers are,- and numb Must be their heart, their dying life blood cease to flow,
Drawing near the Easter Sunday With the Easter-greeting kiss; When I come, remember Dora― Not alone we suffer this!
White Swans, ye harbingers of Spring, a greeting fond from me! Rejoicing thrills within the breast of Mother Earth anew- From her once more the flowers push forth 'mid gleaming drops of dew, And like the Swans, across my soul my dreams will lightly sweep,
O Mountains Of My Native Country!
'O mountains of my native country! O valleys of my home! On you gleam Winter's snowflakes white and twinkle lambs of Summer- On you the rosy sunlight glows, you know no deathly shudder!'
Mother And Child
'Mother, why weepest thou ever For my little sister fair? She is now in heaven's kingdom- Ah, it must be wondrous there!'
When shadows pale are sinking in hues the twilight weaves, Upon the golden grain fields of gleaming wheaten sheaves- Upon the emerald pastures and blue of forests deep, When the soft mists of silver o'er the sea doth creep;
An Easter Greeting
The lark at sunrise trills it high- The greeting Christ is risen! And through the wood the black-bird pipes The greeting Christ is risen!
Comments about Apollon Nikolayevich Maykov
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In Memory Of My Daughter
Clear on the night of my spirit,
To me shines the glance of a star,
It is she! My heart's little maiden!
From her glance gleams something afar,
Of victory, deathless, eternal-
Something that musing, misgiving,
Pierces the essence of being!
It cannot be! It cannot be!
She lives- soon she will waken; straightway
Will ope her pretty eyes,- glad she
Will prattle merry, laughing gay!
And when in tears beholding me-
Will smiling, kissing, cry consoling,
'Papa- it is but playing- See!
I live,- yes! Leave off mourning!'
But cold and mute she lies, ...