The Talisman from the Russian of Alexander Pushkin With Other Pieces

Nonfiction, Religion & Spirituality, New Age, History, Fiction & Literature
Cover of the book The Talisman from the Russian of Alexander Pushkin With Other Pieces by George Henry Borrow, Library of Alexandria
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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.

View on Amazon View on AbeBooks View on Kobo View on B.Depository View on eBay View on Walmart

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.

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