Of all the writings of Mickiewicz, his lyrical pieces strike us as the most beautiful, and show the [Polish] language in its strength and grace. His works are but little known except to his own countrymen, and there was both pathos and irony in the expression used by a Polish lady to a foreigner, “Nous avons notre Mickiewicz á nous.” As yet, no translation into English has appeared, as far as we are aware, of any production of the poet. There is a somewhat tame version in French prose by a compatriot, Christian Ostrowski, and Mickiewicz is said to have winced at the travesty of himself, which had been accomplished by an honest admirer. A very brief glance will show how inadequate the language is to express the fiery vigour of a genuine Polish lyric. His ballads are full of interest; their colouring is entirely national, treating of Lithuanian superstitions, as in Switezianka, or wild adventures among the Cossacks of the Ukraine, as in Czaty (the Ambuscade).

The influence of the romantic school was now at its height throughout Europe; the torch had been kindled by Percy, in the “Reliques,” and Scott, in the “Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.” The impression produced by these collections was first shown in Germany by the writings of Bürger, and afterwards by Goethe and Schiller; and the soil of Poland was full of legend and picturesque histories, which only awaited the coming poet to put them into shape. But it took a long time to make these subjects fashionable; the battle of the Classicists and Romancists had to be fought out in Poland, as well as in other countries. The last to adopt the new creed was France. She had long dictated a poetic code to Europe, but the revolution was finally accomplished by Victor Hugo. Shakspeare ceased to be the “sauvage ivre” of Voltaire.

The sonnet was just introduced into Polish poetry by Mickiewicz, a fact alluded to with graceful words of compliment by Pushkin, in one of his poems. The Crimean sonnets are exquisitely-finished compositions; the three most beautiful, in our opinion, are “The Storm,” “Bakche-Sarai,” and “The Grave of the Countess Potocka.” The last two pieces are written on the Palace of the Khans of the Crimea, and the story of the Polish captive detained there, which forms the subject of Pushkin's fine poem “Bakchi Saraiski Fontan” (The Fountain of Bakchisarai). In Konrad Wallenrod, a narrative poem detailing the battles of the Prussian knights with the heathen Lithuanians, Mickiewicz disguised under a thin veil a representation of the sanguinary passages of arms and burning hatred which had characterised the long feuds of the Russians and Poles. The objects of the poem, evident to some, escaped the Muscovite censores, and it was suffered to appear at St. Petersburg, where Mickiewicz was then residing. Almost every style of metre is employed in it with equal facility; the few songs interspersed are models of consummate grace and finish. We have tried our hand at some, and shall here find room for one, as our readers might like a specimen of a Polish lyric; but our space will permit one only:—

“WILIA”

“Our Wilia, the mother of wild forest torrents,
Rolls sands of pure gold 'neath her clear azure currents;
Bur purer in heart is our Litva's fair daughter,
And brighter in cheek as she drinks of the water.
'Mid the sweet vales of Kovno our Wilia is flowing
Around her narcissi and tulips are growing,
But gayer than roses or tulips' false splendour,
At the Litvinka's feet are the youths that attend her.
These vales which the flowers with their soft beauty cover,
How Wilia despises for Niemen her lover!
The Litvinka is dull, and she slights every maiden,
For a youth that's a stranger her heart is love-laden.
Niemen with arms of wild power, as a giant
On its cold wintry breast its young lover doth pillow,
Then hurries her onward triumphant defiant
And sinks with her lost in the sea's madden'd billow.
And thee, sweet Litvinka, the harsh fates shall sever
From thy dear native vales, the wild haunts of thy gladness,
Absorbed in the gulf of oblivion's dark river,
Thou shalt perish alone! thou shalt fade in thy sadness.
Madden'd stream—madden'd heart, 'tis in vain one
deploreth,
Wilia speeds and the maid with love’s fierce speel is taken.
Wilia is lost in the Niemen she adoreth,
And the maiden laments in the forest forsaken!”

A slight sketch of the plot of this remarkable poem, which is very little known in this country, may not be unwelcome to our readers. It opens with some spirited hexameters, narrating an expedition of the German knights to the banks of the Niemen. The time for the election of a new Grand Master has arrived, and the majority of the Order demand the nomination of Konrad Wallenrod, a mysterious man, who, although possessing great talent as a commander, is liable to occasional fits of melancholy. Konrad is elected, but all are disappointed in him, he spends his time indolently, and most of his expeditions result in disasters. Meanwhile he is constantly having secret meetings with a lady, who is living among the Lithuanians. After having ruined the cause of the Teutonic knights, and when he is on the point of being put to death, he takes poison and dies with the avowal that he is a Lithuanian who has disguised himself, and has sought this means of avenging his country. …

One of the longest and most celebrated pieces of Mickiewicz is his Pan Tadeusz, by many considered to be his chef d’œuvre, written in the year 1834. A curious picture is here given of Lithuania on the eve of Napoleon’s great expedition to Russia in 1812. The poem is full of local colouring, and is worth hundreds of the productions of the Polish poets, while under the influence of the so-called classical school and the rhetorical teaching of the Jesuits. To Mickiewicz it was a labour of love to describe the habits and scenes of his native country, Lithuania, which he never was to revisit. …