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<section id="titlepage" epub:type="titlepage frontmatter">
<h1 epub:type="title">Poetry</h1>
<p>By <b epub:type="z3998:author z3998:personal-name">Taras Shevchenko</b>.</p>
<p>Translated by <b epub:type="z3998:translator z3998:personal-name">Alexander Jardine Hunter</b>, <b epub:type="z3998:translator z3998:personal-name">Ethel Voynich</b>, <b epub:type="z3998:translator z3998:personal-name">Paul Selver</b>, and <b epub:type="z3998:translator z3998:personal-name">Florence Randal Livesay</b>.</p>
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8.80%2C0.00z%22%2F%3E%09%09%3Cpath%20d%3D%22M982.90%2C621.40l0.00%2C38.60l-8.80%2C0.00l0.00-38.60l8.80%2C0.00z%22%2F%3E%09%09%3Cpath%20d%3D%22M1001.61%2C660.00l-16.19-38.60l9.92%2C0.00l9.73%2C25.36l9.73-25.36l9.92%2C0.00l-16.19%2C38.60l-6.92%2C0.00z%22%2F%3E%09%09%3Cpath%20d%3D%22M1053.30%2C621.40l0.00%2C7.72l-13.29%2C0.00l0.00%2C7.67l12.73%2C0.00l0.00%2C7.72l-12.73%2C0.00l0.00%2C7.77l13.29%2C0.00l0.00%2C7.72l-22.08%2C0.00l0.00-38.60l22.08%2C0.00z%22%2F%3E%09%09%3Cpath%20d%3D%22M1077.57%2C620.70c7.02%2C0.00%2C11.98%2C3.65%2C11.98%2C3.65l-3.56%2C7.02s-3.84-2.67-7.81-2.67c-2.99%2C0.00-4.58%2C1.36-4.58%2C3.46c0.00%2C2.15%2C3.65%2C3.70%2C8.05%2C5.57c4.30%2C1.82%2C9.03%2C5.47%2C9.03%2C10.53c0.00%2C9.22-7.02%2C12.44-14.55%2C12.44c-9.03%2C0.00-14.50-5.10-14.50-5.10l4.40-7.39s5.15%2C4.35%2C9.45%2C4.35c1.92%2C0.00%2C5.57-0.19%2C5.57-3.79c0.00-2.81-4.12-4.07-8.70-6.36c-4.63-2.29-7.35-5.89-7.35-9.92c0.00-7.20%2C6.36-11.79%2C12.58-11.79z%22%2F%3E%09%09%3Cpath%20d%3D%22M1119.39%2C621.40l15.58%2C38.60l-9.45%2C0.00l-2.85-7.72l-14.69%2C0.00l-2.85%2C7.72l-9.45%2C0.00l15.58-38.60l8.14%2C0.00z%20%20M1119.67%2C644.56l-4.30-11.23l-0.09%2C0.00l-4.30%2C11.23l8.70%2C0.00z%22%2F%3E%09%09%3Cpath%20d%3D%22M1133.05%2C621.40l10.57%2C0.00l8.05%2C12.35l8.05-12.35l10.57%2C0.00l-14.22%2C21.29l0.00%2C17.31l-8.80%2C0.00l0.00-17.31z%22%2F%3E%09%3C%2Fg%3E%3C%2Fsvg%3E" epub:type="se:image.color-depth.black-on-transparent"/>
</section>
<nav id="toc" epub:type="toc">
<h2 epub:type="title">Table of Contents</h2>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#titlepage">Titlepage</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#imprint">Imprint</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-night-of-taras">The Night of Taras</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#topolia" lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Topolia</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#hamaleia">Hamaleia</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#khustina" lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Khustina</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#naimechka" lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Naimechka</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#naimechka-prologue">Prologue</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#naimechka-1" epub:type="z3998:roman">I</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#naimechka-2" epub:type="z3998:roman">II</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#naimechka-3" epub:type="z3998:roman">III</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#naimechka-4" epub:type="z3998:roman">IV</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#naimechka-5" epub:type="z3998:roman">V</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#naimechka-6" epub:type="z3998:roman">VI</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#naimechka-7" epub:type="z3998:roman">VII</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#naimechka-8" epub:type="z3998:roman">VIII</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#caucasus">Caucasus</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#to-the-circassians">To the Circassians</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#to-the-rich-and-great">To the Rich and Great</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#to-the-master">To the Master</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#again-addressing-the-circassians">Again Addressing the Circassians</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#to-jacques-de-balmont">To Jacques de Balmont</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#to-the-dead">To the Dead</a>
<ol>
<li>
<a href="#to-the-dead-1" epub:type="z3998:roman">I</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#to-the-dead-2" epub:type="z3998:roman">II</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#to-the-dead-3" epub:type="z3998:roman">III</a>
</li>
</ol>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#lyric-1">Lyric: From Day to Day, from Night to Night</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#a-poem-of-exile">A Poem of Exile</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#memories-of-an-exile">Memories of an Exile</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#hymn-of-exile">Hymn of Exile</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#on-the-eleventh-psalm">On the Eleventh Psalm</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#prayer-1">Prayer: To Tsars and Kings</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#prayer-2">Prayer: My Prayer for the Tsars</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#prayer-3">Prayer: For Those That Have Done Wrong to Me</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#prayer-4">Prayer: To Those of the Ever-Greedy Eyes</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#mighty-wind">Mighty Wind</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#hymn-of-the-nuns">Hymn of the Nuns</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#to-the-goddess-of-fame">To the Goddess of Fame</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#iconoclasm">Iconoclasm</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#my-testament">My Testament</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-water-fairy">The Water Fairy</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#lyric-2">Lyric: Only Friend, Clear Evening Twilight</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-reaper">The Reaper</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#lyric-3">Lyric: I Care Not, Shall I See My Dear</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#a-dream">A Dream</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#kalina" lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Kalina</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-monk">The Monk</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#drowsy-the-waves">Drowsy the Waves</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#see-fires-ablaze">See Fires Ablaze</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#to-the-makers-of-sentimental-idyls">To the Makers of Sentimental Idyls</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#the-bondwomans-dream">The Bondwomans Dream</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#winter">Winter</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#endnotes">Endnotes</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#colophon">Colophon</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="#uncopyright">Uncopyright</a>
</li>
</ol>
</nav>
<section id="imprint" epub:type="imprint frontmatter">
<header>
<h2 epub:type="title">Imprint</h2>
<img alt="The Standard Ebooks logo." 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epub:type="z3998:publisher-logo se:image.color-depth.black-on-transparent"/>
</header>
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</section>
<article id="the-night-of-taras" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Night of Taras</h2>
<p>
<span>By the road the <i lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Kobzar</i> sat</span>
<br/>
<span>And on his <i lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">kobza</i> played.</span>
<br/>
<span>Around him youths and maidens</span>
<br/>
<span>Like poppy flowers arrayed.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>So the <i lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Kobzar</i> played and sang</span>
<br/>
<span>Of many an old old story;</span>
<br/>
<span>Of wars with Russian, Pole and Tartar</span>
<br/>
<span>And the ancient Cossack glory.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>He sang of the wars of Taras brave,</span>
<br/>
<span>Of battle fought in the morning early,</span>
<br/>
<span>Of the fallen Cossacks grass-grown grave</span>
<br/>
<span>Till smiles and tears did mingle fairly.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>“Once on a time the Hetmans ruled,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">It comes not back again;</span>
<br/>
<span>In olden days we masters were</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">This never comes again.</span>
<br/>
<span>These glories of old Cossack lore</span>
<br/>
<span>Shall be forgotten nevermore.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">Ukraine, Ukraine!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Mother mine. Mother mine!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">When I remember thee</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">How mournful should I be.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>What has come of our Cossacks bold</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">With coats of velvet red?</span>
<br/>
<span>What of freedom by fate foretold,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">And banners the Hetmans led?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">Whither is it gone?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">In flames it went:</span>
<br/>
<span>Oer hills and tombs,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">The floods were sent.</span>
<br/>
<span>The hills are wrapt</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">in silence grim,</span>
<br/>
<span>On boundless sea</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">waves ever play;</span>
<br/>
<span>The tombs gleam forth</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">with sadness dim;</span>
<br/>
<span>Oer all the land</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">the foe holds sway.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Play on, oh sea,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Hills silent be:</span>
<br/>
<span>Dance, mighty wind,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Oer all the land.</span>
<br/>
<span>Weep, Cossack youth,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Your fate withstand.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Now who shall our adviser be?</span>
<br/>
<span>Then out spake Naleweiko,</span>
<br/>
<span>A Cossack bold was he,</span>
<br/>
<span>After him Paulioha</span>
<br/>
<span>Like falcon swift did flee.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Out spake Taras Traselo</span>
<br/>
<span>With bitter words and true,</span>
<br/>
<span>“That they trampled on Ukraina</span>
<br/>
<span>For sure the Poles shall rue.”</span>
<br/>
<span>Out spake Taras Traselo,</span>
<br/>
<span>Out spake the eagle grey.</span>
<br/>
<span>Rescue for the faith he wrought,</span>
<br/>
<span>Well indeed the Poles he taught.</span>
<br/>
<span>“Lets make an end of our woe.</span>
<br/>
<span>An end come now to your woe,</span>
<br/>
<span>Arise, my gentle comrades, all</span>
<br/>
<span>Upon the Poles with blows well fall.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Three days of war</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">did the land deliver.</span>
<br/>
<span>From the Deltas shore</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">to Trubails river.</span>
<br/>
<span>The fields are covered</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">with dead, in course,</span>
<br/>
<span>But weary now</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">is the Cossack force.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Now the dirty Polish ruler</span>
<br/>
<span>Was feeling very jolly,</span>
<br/>
<span>Gathered all his lords together,</span>
<br/>
<span>For a time of feast and folly.</span>
<br/>
<span>Taras did his Cossacks gather</span>
<br/>
<span>To have a little talk together.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">“Captains and comrades,</span>
<br/>
<span>My children and brothers,</span>
<br/>
<span>What are we now to do?</span>
<br/>
<span>Our hated foes are feasting,</span>
<br/>
<span>I want advice from you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“Let them feast away,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Its fine for their health.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>When the sun descends,</span>
<br/>
<span>Old night her counsel lends;</span>
<br/>
<span>The Cossacksll catch them,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">and all of their wealth.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The sun reclined beyond the hill</span>
<br/>
<span>The stars shone out in silence still,</span>
<br/>
<span>Around the Poles the Cossack host</span>
<br/>
<span>Was gathering like a cloud;</span>
<br/>
<span>So soon the moon stood in the sky</span>
<br/>
<span>When roared the cannon loud.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Woke up the Polish lordlings,</span>
<br/>
<span>To run they found no place.</span>
<br/>
<span>Woke up the Polish lordlings,</span>
<br/>
<span>The foe they could not face.</span>
<br/>
<span>The sun beheld the Polish lordlings,</span>
<br/>
<span>In heaps all oer the place.</span>
<br/>
<span>With red serpent on the water,</span>
<br/>
<span>River Alta brings the word</span>
<br/>
<span>That black vultures after slaughter</span>
<br/>
<span>May feast on many a Polish lord.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And now the vultures hasten</span>
<br/>
<span>The mighty dead to waken.</span>
<br/>
<span>Together the Cossacks gather</span>
<br/>
<span>Praise to God to offer.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>While black vultures scream,</span>
<br/>
<span>Oer the corpses fight.</span>
<br/>
<span>Then the Cossacks sing</span>
<br/>
<span>A hymn to the night;</span>
<br/>
<span>That night of famous story</span>
<br/>
<span>Full of blood and glory.</span>
<br/>
<span>That night that put the Poles to sleep</span>
<br/>
<span>The while on them their foes did creep.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Beyond the stream</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">in open field</span>
<br/>
<span>A burial mound</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">gleams darkly:</span>
<br/>
<span>Where the Cossack blood was shed</span>
<br/>
<span>There grows the grass full greenly.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>On the tomb a raven sits:</span>
<br/>
<span>With hunger sore hes screaming.</span>
<br/>
<span>Waiting near a Cossack weeps:</span>
<br/>
<span>Of days of old hes dreaming.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The <i lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Kobzar</i> ceased in sadness</span>
<br/>
<span>His hands would no longer play:</span>
<br/>
<span>Around him youths and maidens</span>
<br/>
<span>Were wiping the tears away.</span>
<br/>
<span>By the path the <i lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Kobzar</i> makes his way,</span>
<br/>
<span>To get rid of his grief he starts to play.</span>
<br/>
<span>And now the youngsters are dancing gay,</span>
<br/>
<span>And then he opes his lips to say:</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“Skip off, my children,</span>
<br/>
<span>To some nice warm corner,</span>
<br/>
<span>Of griefs enough;</span>
<br/>
<span>Ill no longer be mourner.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>To the bar Ill go</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">and find my good wife</span>
<br/>
<span>And there well have</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">the time of our life.</span>
<br/>
<span>For so well drink away our woes</span>
<br/>
<span>And make no end of fun of our foes.”</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="topolia" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<hgroup>
<h2 lang="uk-Latn" epub:type="title" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Topolia</h2>
<p epub:type="subtitle">The Poplar</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>The wind blows through the oaks in the wood,</span>
<br/>
<span>It dances through the fields.</span>
<br/>
<span>Beside the high-road it uproots <span lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Topolia</span>,</span>
<br/>
<span>And fells her to the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Why has she a slim, tall trunk?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Why are her broad leaves green?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The field around is blue,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And wide as the sea.⁠ ⁠…</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">When the <i lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Tchumak</i> passes</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">He looks and bows his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Tchabàn, the shepherd, in the dawn,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">His pipe plays on the hill;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">He looks around.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Sorrow is in his heart—no shrub is near</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Only a poplar lone,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Lone as an orphan stands,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Fades in an alien land.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Who nurtured this slender and yielding body</span>
<br/>
<span>To languish on the steppes?</span>
<br/>
<span>Wait, maidens, I will tell ye!</span>
<br/>
<span>Listen:</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">With a Cossack</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">A maiden fell in love,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Loved him, but held him not.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">He departed and perished.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">If she had known</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That he would leave her</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">She would not have loved him:</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">If she had known</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That he would die</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">She would not have let him go:</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">If she had known,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">She would not have gone for water late at even,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">She would not have lingered</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With her sweetheart</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Under the willow tree</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">If she had known!⁠ ⁠…</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">But it is dangerous</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To know the future</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">What misfortune will meet us,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Maidens, seek not to know,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Ask not of your fate.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The heart knows whom to love.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Let it wither, little by little,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Until it is buried,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Because</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Not for long are the bright eyes</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Of the black-browed girl.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Girls, O Girls!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Not for long the rosy cheeks!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Only till noon</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Then they will fade, will shrivel,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The black brows will grow pale.⁠ ⁠…</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Girls! Love ye or like as your heart says.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The nightingale is trilling</span>
<br/>
<span>In the wood, on the cranberry.</span>
<br/>
<span>Walking in the meadow</span>
<br/>
<span>The Cossack sings</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">He sings until <span lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Tchornobriva</span><a href="#note-1" id="noteref-1" epub:type="noteref">1</a></span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Comes out of the hut,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And he asks her:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">“Did your mother hurt you?”</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Close together they stand, they embrace,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The nightingale sings,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And, hearing it, they depart,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Joyful at heart.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Nobody sees them, none will ask her,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">“Where wast thou, what didst thou do?”</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">She herself knows. She loved,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But her heart was sad with foreboding,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">All unspoken, untold.⁠ ⁠…</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Abandoned,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Day and night she called,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Cooing like a mournful dove,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But no one heard.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">The nightingale does not sing</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In the wood over the water:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The black-browed girl sang of old</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Under a willow tree</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Now she does not sing.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">As an orphan, she hates the white world.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Without her sweetheart,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Like an alien, her mother,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Like a stranger, her father.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Without her sweetheart</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The sun shines</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">As an enemy loves.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Without her lover</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">All is—a grave.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And her heart beats on.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">One year passed, and another,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The Cossack did not return.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span class="i1">“I will not marry him, Mother!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I do not wish to live like a lady,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Lower me in a grave with those Towels!<a href="#note-2" id="noteref-2" epub:type="noteref">2</a></span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Better to lie in a coffin than to see his face.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span class="i1">“O fortune-teller, how long will I live in this world</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Without my sweetheart?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Granny-Pigeon,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">My Heart, Nenka, tell me the truth,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Is my lover alive and in health?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Does he love me,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Or forget and abandon me?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Tell me, where is my lover?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Art thou ready to fly to the end of the world,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Granny-Pigeon?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Tell, if thou knowest,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">For my Mother marries me to an old, rich man.⁠ ⁠…</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But, O Grey One,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Never will my heart cease loving that other!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I would drown myself</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But so I might lose my soul.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O my <i lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Ptashka</i>!<a href="#note-3" id="noteref-3" epub:type="noteref">3</a></span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Do something—let me not go home.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">It is hard, hard for me</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">There, at home, the Old One waits</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With the marriage brokers.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Tell me my fortune.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">“So be it, Daughter. Tarry a while,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But do my will. Long ago I, too,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Was a marriageable maiden</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I know that woe, but it has passed,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And I have learned to help.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I knew thy fortune, my dear daughter,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Two years ago. Then I prepared for thee</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That <i lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">zilie</i> on the shelf.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Now take the magic herb,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And to the clear spring go.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Ere cock-crow wash thy face,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Then drink this draught. Sorrow shall pass.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Run to the grave, nor look thou back</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Some one behind may cry, but give no heed.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Run to that spot where once thou saidst farewell;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Stay there until the moon</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Is crescent in mid-sky,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Then drink again.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">If he come not,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Then drink once more.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">After the first draught thou wilt look</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The maid thou wast:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">After the second, a horse will stamp its foot.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">If then thy Cossack lives</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Be sure hell come;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But after the third draught,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O daughter mine,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Ask not what shall befall!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But hearken!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Cross not thyself</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Else naught of this will be.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Now go! And look upon</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Thy beauty of last year!”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span class="i1">“To go or not to go?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">No, I will not go home!”</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">She went and bathed herself,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And drank the <i lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">zilie</i> wine,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And she was changed;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Second and third time drank,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And drowsiness was hers.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">She sang on the wide steppes:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">“Float, float, O Swan,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Upon the bluish sea!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Grow tall, <span lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Topolia</span>,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Reach higher, higher!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Slender and tall, aspire</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Up to the clouds.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Ask God: Will waiting then</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">At all avail?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Waiting for him, my mate?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">“Grow, grow tall!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Look out oer the blue sea.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Good luck and bad luck lie</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">On either side.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And there, somewhere,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">My lover roams the fields.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I weep, my years pass by</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Waiting for him.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Say to him, O my heart, <span lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Topolia</span>!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That people laugh at me.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Tell him that I shall die</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">If he do not come soon.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Mother herself</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Wishes to bury me.⁠ ⁠…</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Look far, <span lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Topolia</span>, and, if he is not,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Weep with the dew at sundown,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Though none may know</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Taller and taller grow,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Higher and higher.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Float, float, O Swan,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Upon the bluish sea.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Such a song <span lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Tchornobriva</span></span>
<br/>
<span>Sang on the steppes.</span>
<br/>
<span>O <i lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Zilie</i> Miracle!—she is <span lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Topolia</span>!</span>
<br/>
<span>She did not return home;</span>
<br/>
<span>She did not wait for him.</span>
<br/>
<span>There slim and tall</span>
<br/>
<span>She beckons to the clouds.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The wind blows through the oaks in the wood,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">It dances through the fields.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Beside the high road it uproots <span lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Topolia</span>,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And fells her to the ground.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="hamaleia" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Hamaleia<a href="#note-4" id="noteref-4" epub:type="noteref">4</a></h2>
<p>
<span class="i1">“Oh breeze there is none,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Nor do the waters run</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">From our Ukrainas land.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Perhaps, in council there they stand,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">To march against the Turk demand.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">We hear not in this foreign land.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Blow winds, blow across the sea,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Bring tidings of our land so free,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Come from Dniepers Delta low,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Dry our tears and chase away our woe.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Roar in play thou sea so blue.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In yon boats are Cossacks true,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Their caps above are dimly seen.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Rescue for us this may mean.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Once more well hear Ukrainas story.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Once more the ancient Cossack glory</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Well hear before we die.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>So in Skutari the Cossacks sang,</span>
<br/>
<span>Their tears rolled down, their wailing rang</span>
<br/>
<span>Bosphorus groaned at the Cossack cry.</span>
<br/>
<span>And then he raised his waves on high.</span>
<br/>
<span>And shivering like a great grey bull,</span>
<br/>
<span>His waters roaring far and full</span>
<br/>
<span>Into the Black Seas ribs were hurled.</span>
<br/>
<span>The sea sent on great Bosphorus cry,</span>
<br/>
<span>To where the sands of the Delta lie,</span>
<br/>
<span>And then the waters of Dnieper pale</span>
<br/>
<span>In turn took up the mournful tale.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The father Dnieper rears his crest,</span>
<br/>
<span>Shakes the foam from off his breast.</span>
<br/>
<span>With laughter now aloud he calls</span>
<br/>
<span>To spirits of the forest walls.</span>
<br/>
<span>“Hortessa sister river, deep,</span>
<br/>
<span>Time it is to wake from sleep.</span>
<br/>
<span>Brother forest, sister river,</span>
<br/>
<span>Come our children to deliver.”</span>
<br/>
<span>And now the Dnieper is clad with boats,</span>
<br/>
<span>The Cossack song oer the water floats.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i3">“In Turkey over there,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">Are wealth and riches rare.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">Hey, hey, blue sea play.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">Then roar upon the shore,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">Bringing with you guests so gay.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i3">“This Turkey has in her pockets</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">Dollars and ducats.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">We dont come pockets to pick,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">Fire and sword will do the trick.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">We mean to free our brothers.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i3">“There the janissary crouches,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">There are pashas on soft couches.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">Hey-ho, foemen ware,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">For nothing do we care,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">Ours are liberty and glory.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">On they sail a-singing</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">The sea to the wind gives heed,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">In foremost boat the helm a-guiding,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Brave Hamaleia takes the lead.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">“Oh, Hamaleia, our hearts are fainting,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Behold the sea in madness raving.”</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">“Dont fear,” he says, “these spurting fountains,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Well hide behind the water mountains.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>All slumber in the harem,</span>
<br/>
<span>Byzantiums paradise.</span>
<br/>
<span>Skutari sleeps, but Bosphorus</span>
<br/>
<span>In madness shouts, “Arise!</span>
<br/>
<span>Awake Byzantium!” it roars and groans.</span>
<br/>
<span>“Awake them not, Oh Bosphorus.”</span>
<br/>
<span>Replies the sea in thunder tones.</span>
<br/>
<span>“If thou dost Ill fill thy ribs with sand,</span>
<br/>
<span>Bury thee in mud, change thee to solid land.</span>
<br/>
<span>Perhaps thou knowest not the guest</span>
<br/>
<span>I bring to break the sultans rest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>So the sea insisted,</span>
<br/>
<span>For he loved the brave Slavonic band;</span>
<br/>
<span>And Bosphorus desisted,</span>
<br/>
<span>While in slumber lay the Turkish land.</span>
<br/>
<span>The lazy Sultan in his harem slept,</span>
<br/>
<span>But only in Skutari the weary prisners wept.</span>
<br/>
<span>For something are they waiting,</span>
<br/>
<span>To God from dungeon praying,</span>
<br/>
<span>While the waves go roaring by.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“Oh, loved God of Ukraines land,</span>
<br/>
<span>To us in prison stretch thy hand;</span>
<br/>
<span>Slaves are we a Cossack band.</span>
<br/>
<span>Shame it is now in truth to say,</span>
<br/>
<span>Shame it will be at judgment day</span>
<br/>
<span>For us from foreign tomb to rise,</span>
<br/>
<span>And at thy court, to the worlds surprise</span>
<br/>
<span>Show Cossack hands in chains.”</span>
<br/>
<span class="i7">“Strike and kill,</span>
<br/>
<span>Now the infidels will get their fill</span>
<br/>
<span>Death to the unbelievers all.”</span>
<br/>
<span>How they scream beyond the wall!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Theyve heard of Hamaleias fame,</span>
<br/>
<span>Skutari maddens at his name.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“Strike on,” he shouts, “kill and slay</span>
<br/>
<span>To the castle break your way.”</span>
<br/>
<span>All the guns of Skutari roar</span>
<br/>
<span>The foes in frenzy onward pour,</span>
<br/>
<span>The cossacks rush with panting breath</span>
<br/>
<span>The janissaries fall in death.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">Hamaleia in Skutari</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Dances through the flames in glee.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">To the jail his way he makes,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Through the prison doors he breaks.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Off the feet the fetters takes.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">“Fly away my birds so gray,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">In the town to share the prey.”</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">But the falcons trembled</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Nor their fears dissembled</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">So long they had not heard</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">A single christian word.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">Night herself was frightened.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">No flames her darkness lightened.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">The old mother could not see</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">How the Cossacks pay their fee.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">“Fear not! Look ahead,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">To the Cossack banquet spread.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Dark over all, like a common day,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">And this no little holiday.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">“No sneak thieves with Hamaleia,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">To eat their bacon silently</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Without a frying pan.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">“Lets have a light,”</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Now burning bright</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">To heaven flames Skutari,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">With all its ruined navy.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Byzantium awakes, its eyes it opens wide</span>
<br/>
<span>With grinding teeth hastes to its comrades side,</span>
<br/>
<span>Byzantium roars and rages,</span>
<br/>
<span>With hands to the shore it reaches,</span>
<br/>
<span>From waters gasping strives to rise,</span>
<br/>
<span>And then with sword in heart it dies.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>With fires of hell Skutaris burning,</span>
<br/>
<span>Bazaars with streams of blood are churning</span>
<br/>
<span>Broad Bosphorus pours in its waves.</span>
<br/>
<span>Like blackbirds in a bush</span>
<br/>
<span>The Cossacks fiercely rush.</span>
<br/>
<span>No living soul escapes.</span>
<br/>
<span>Untouched by fire,</span>
<br/>
<span>They the walls down tear,</span>
<br/>
<span>Silver and gold in their caps they bear,</span>
<br/>
<span>And load their boats with riches rare.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Burns Skutari, ends the fray,</span>
<br/>
<span>The warriors gather and come away,</span>
<br/>
<span>Their pipes with burning cinders light,</span>
<br/>
<span>And row their boats through waves flame bright.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="khustina" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<hgroup>
<h2 lang="uk-Latn" epub:type="title" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Khustina</h2>
<p epub:type="subtitle">The Betrothal Kerchief<a href="#note-5" id="noteref-5" epub:type="noteref">5</a></p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>On Sunday she did not dance</span>
<br/>
<span>She earned the money for her skeins of silk</span>
<br/>
<span>With which she embroidered her kerchief.</span>
<br/>
<span>And while she stitched she sang:</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">“My kerchief, embroidered, stitched, and scalloped!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I shall present thee and my lover shall kiss me.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">O <i lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Khustina</i>, bright with my painting.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I am unplaiting my hair,<a href="#note-6" id="noteref-6" epub:type="noteref">6</a> I walk with my lover</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">(O my Fate! My Mother!)</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">The people will wonder in the morning</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That an orphan should give this kerchief</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Fine-broidered and painted kerchief.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>So worked she at her stitching, and gazed down the road</span>
<br/>
<span>To listen for the bellowing of the curved-horned oxen,</span>
<br/>
<span>To see if her <i lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Tchumak</i> comes homeward.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
<span>The <i lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Tchumak</i> is coming from beyond Lyman,</span>
<br/>
<span>With anothers possessions, with no luck of his own.</span>
<br/>
<span>He drives another mans oxen; he sings as he drives:</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">“O my fate, my fortune,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Why is it not like that of others?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Do I drink and dance?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Have I not got strength?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Know I not the roads of the steppes</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">That lead to thee?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Do I not offer thee my gifts,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">(For I have gifts)—my brown eyes</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">My young strength, bought by the rich?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">… Perchance they have mated my sweetheart to another.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Teach me, O Fortune, how to forget,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">How to drown my grief in drink and song.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And as he journeyed over the steppes, lonesome, unhappy, he wept</span>
<br/>
<span>And out on the steppes, on a grave, a grey owl hooted.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The <i lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Tchumaki</i>,<a href="#note-7" id="noteref-7" epub:type="noteref">7</a> greatly troubled, entreated:</span>
<br/>
<span>“Bless us, Ataman, that we may reach the village,</span>
<br/>
<span>For we would bring our comrade to the village</span>
<br/>
<span>That there he may confess ere death; be shriven.”</span>
<br/>
<span>They confessed; heard mass, consulted fortune-tellers.</span>
<br/>
<span>But it availed not; so with him, unholpen,</span>
<br/>
<span>They moved along the road. Was it his burden,</span>
<br/>
<span>The constant burden of his anxious love</span>
<br/>
<span>(Or victim he of some ones evil spell?),</span>
<br/>
<span>That so they brought him from the Don</span>
<br/>
<span>Home on a wagon?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>God he besought</span>
<br/>
<span>At least to see his sweetheart. But not so</span>
<br/>
<span>He pleaded not enough.⁠ ⁠… They buried him</span>
<br/>
<span>And none will mourn him, buried far away;</span>
<br/>
<span>They placed a cross upon the orphans grave</span>
<br/>
<span>And journeyed on.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>As the grass withers, as the leaf falls on the stream,</span>
<br/>
<span>Is borne to distance dim,</span>
<br/>
<span>The Cossack left this world, and took with him</span>
<br/>
<span>All that he had.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Where is the kerchief, silken-wrought?</span>
<br/>
<span>The merry girl-child, where?</span>
<br/>
<span>The wind a kerchief waves</span>
<br/>
<span>On the new cross.</span>
<br/>
<span>A maiden in a nunnery</span>
<br/>
<span>Unbinds her hair.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="naimechka" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<hgroup>
<h2 lang="uk-Latn" epub:type="title" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Naimechka</h2>
<p epub:type="subtitle">Or, The Servant</p>
</hgroup>
<section id="naimechka-prologue" epub:type="prologue">
<h3 epub:type="title">Prologue</h3>
<p>
<span>On a Sunday, very early,</span>
<br/>
<span>When fields were clad with mist</span>
<br/>
<span>A womans form was bending</span>
<br/>
<span>Mid graves by cloud wreaths kissed.</span>
<br/>
<span>Something to her heart she pressed,</span>
<br/>
<span>In accents low the clouds addressed.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“Oh, you mist and raindrops fine,</span>
<br/>
<span>Pity this ragged luck of mine.</span>
<br/>
<span>Hide me here in grassy meadows,</span>
<br/>
<span>Bury me beneath thy shadows.</span>
<br/>
<span>Why must I mid sorrows stray?</span>
<br/>
<span>Pray take them with my life away.</span>
<br/>
<span>In gloomy death would be relief,</span>
<br/>
<span>Where none might know or see my grief.</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet not alone my life was spent,</span>
<br/>
<span>A father and mother my sin lament.</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor yet alone is my course to run</span>
<br/>
<span>For in my arms is my little son.</span>
<br/>
<span>Shall I, then, give to him christian name,</span>
<br/>
<span>To poverty bind, with his mothers shame?</span>
<br/>
<span>This, brother mist, I shall not do.</span>
<br/>
<span>I alone my fault must rue.</span>
<br/>
<span>Thee, sweet son, shall strangers christen,</span>
<br/>
<span>Thy mothers eyes with teardrops glisten.</span>
<br/>
<span>Thy very name I may not know</span>
<br/>
<span>As on through life I lonely go.</span>
<br/>
<span>I, by my sin, rich fortune lost,</span>
<br/>
<span>With thee, my son, to ill fate, was tossed.</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet curse me not,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">for evils past.</span>
<br/>
<span>My prayers to heaven</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">shall reach at last.</span>
<br/>
<span>The skies above</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">to my tears shall bend,</span>
<br/>
<span>Another fortune to thee Ill send.”</span>
<br/>
<span>Through the fields she sobbing went.</span>
<br/>
<span>The gentle mist</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">its shelter lent.</span>
<br/>
<span>Her tears were falling</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">the path along,</span>
<br/>
<span>As she softly sang</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">the widows song:</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“Oh, in the field there is a grave</span>
<br/>
<span>Where the shining grasses wave;</span>
<br/>
<span>There the widow walked apart,</span>
<br/>
<span>Bitter sorrow in her heart.</span>
<br/>
<span>Poison herbs in vain she sought,</span>
<br/>
<span>Whereby evil spells are wrought.</span>
<br/>
<span>Two little sons</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">in arms she bore</span>
<br/>
<span>Wrapped around in</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">dress she wore;</span>
<br/>
<span>Her children to the river carried,</span>
<br/>
<span>In converse with the water tarried;</span>
<br/>
<span>Oh, river Dunai, gentle river,</span>
<br/>
<span>I my sons to thee deliver,</span>
<br/>
<span>Thoult swaddle them</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">and wrap them,</span>
<br/>
<span>Thy little waves</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">will lap them,</span>
<br/>
<span>Thy yellow sands</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">will cherish them,</span>
<br/>
<span>Thy flowing waters</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">nourish them.’ ”</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="naimechka-1" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">I</h3>
<p>
<span>All by themselves lived</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">an old couple fond</span>
<br/>
<span>In a nice little grove</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">just by a millpond.</span>
<br/>
<span>Like birds of a feather</span>
<br/>
<span>Just always together,</span>
<br/>
<span>From childhood the two of them</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">fed sheep together,</span>
<br/>
<span>Got married, got wealthy,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">got houses and lands,</span>
<br/>
<span>Got a beautiful garden</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">just where the mill stands,</span>
<br/>
<span>An apiary full</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">of beehives like boulders.</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet no children were theirs,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">and death at their shoulders.</span>
<br/>
<span>Who will cheer their passing years?</span>
<br/>
<span>Who will soothe their mortal fears?</span>
<br/>
<span>Who will guard their gathered treasure.</span>
<br/>
<span>In loyal service find his pleasure?</span>
<br/>
<span>Who will be their faithful son</span>
<br/>
<span>When low their sands of life do run?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Hard it is a child to rear,</span>
<br/>
<span>In roofless house mid want and fear.</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet just as hard mid gathered wealth,</span>
<br/>
<span>When death creeps on with crafty stealth,</span>
<br/>
<span>And ones treasures good</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">At end of lifes wandering,</span>
<br/>
<span>Are for strangers rude</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">For mocking and squandering.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="naimechka-2" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">II</h3>
<p>
<span>One fine Sunday,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">in the bright sunlight,</span>
<br/>
<span>All dressed up</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">in blouses white,</span>
<br/>
<span>The old folks sat</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">on the bench by the door;</span>
<br/>
<span>No cloud in sky,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">What could they ask more?</span>
<br/>
<span>All peace and love</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">it seemed like Eden.</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet angels above</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">their hearts might read in,</span>
<br/>
<span>A hidden sorrow,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">a gloomy mood</span>
<br/>
<span>Like lurking beast</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">in darksome wood.</span>
<br/>
<span>In such a heaven</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Oh, do you see</span>
<br/>
<span>Whatever could</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">the trouble be?</span>
<br/>
<span>I wonder now</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">what ancient sorrow</span>
<br/>
<span>Suddenly sprang</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">into their morrow.</span>
<br/>
<span>Was it quarrel</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">of yesterday</span>
<br/>
<span>Choked off, then</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">revived today,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or yet some newly sprouted ire</span>
<br/>
<span>Arisen to set their heaven on fire?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Perchance theyre called to go to God,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor longer dwell on earths green sod.</span>
<br/>
<span>Then who for them on that far way</span>
<br/>
<span>Horses and chariot shall array?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“Anastasia, wife of mine,</span>
<br/>
<span>Soon will come our fatal day,</span>
<br/>
<span>Who will lay our bones away?”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i4">“God only knows.</span>
<br/>
<span>With me always was that thought</span>
<br/>
<span>Which gloom into my heart has brought.</span>
<br/>
<span>Together in years and failing health,</span>
<br/>
<span>For what have we gathered</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">all this wealth?”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i4">“Hold a minute,</span>
<br/>
<span>Hearest thou? Something cries</span>
<br/>
<span>Beyond the gatetis like a child.</span>
<br/>
<span>Lets run! Seest ought?</span>
<br/>
<span>I thought something was there.”</span>
<br/>
<span>Together they sprang</span>
<br/>
<span>And to the gate running;</span>
<br/>
<span>Then stopped in silence wondering.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Before the stile</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">a swaddled child,</span>
<br/>
<span>Not bound tightly,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">just wrapped lightly,</span>
<br/>
<span>For it was</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">in summer mild,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the mother</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">with fond caress</span>
<br/>
<span>Had covered it</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">with her own last dress.</span>
<br/>
<span>In wondering prayer</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">stood our fond old pair.</span>
<br/>
<span>The little thing</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">just seemed to plead.</span>
<br/>
<span>In little arms</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">stretched out yould read</span>
<br/>
<span>Its prayer</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">in silence all.</span>
<br/>
<span>No crying—just a little breath its call.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">“See, Stasia!</span>
<br/>
<span>What did I tell thee?</span>
<br/>
<span>Here is fortune and fate for us;</span>
<br/>
<span>No longer dwell we in loneliness.</span>
<br/>
<span>Take it</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">and dress it.</span>
<br/>
<span>Look at it!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">Bless it!</span>
<br/>
<span>Quick, bear it inside,</span>
<br/>
<span>To the village Ill ride.</span>
<br/>
<span>Its ours to baptize,</span>
<br/>
<span>God-parents we need for our prize.”</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">In this world</span>
<br/>
<span class="i8">things strangely run.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Theres a fellow</span>
<br/>
<span class="i8">that curses his son,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Chases him away from home,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Into lonely lands to roam,</span>
<br/>
<span>While other poor creatures,</span>
<br/>
<span>With sorrowful features,</span>
<br/>
<span>With sweat of their toiling</span>
<br/>
<span>Must much money earn;</span>
<br/>
<span>The wage of their moiling</span>
<br/>
<span>Candles to burn.</span>
<br/>
<span>Prayers to repeat,</span>
<br/>
<span>The saints to entreat;</span>
<br/>
<span>For children are none.</span>
<br/>
<span>This world is no fun</span>
<br/>
<span>The way things run.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="naimechka-3" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">III</h3>
<p>
<span>Their joys do now such numbers reach</span>
<br/>
<span>God fathers and mothers</span>
<br/>
<span>Mid lots of others</span>
<br/>
<span>Behold they have gathered</span>
<br/>
<span>Three pairs of each.</span>
<br/>
<span>At even they christen him,</span>
<br/>
<span>And Mark is the name of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">So Mark grows,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">And so it goes.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For the dear old folk it is no joke,</span>
<br/>
<span>For they dont know where to go,</span>
<br/>
<span>Where to set him, when to pet him.</span>
<br/>
<span>But the year goes and still Mark grows.</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet they care for him, youd scarce tell how,</span>
<br/>
<span>Just as he were a good milk-cow.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And now a woman young and bright,</span>
<br/>
<span>With eyebrows dark and skin so white,</span>
<br/>
<span>Comes into this blessed place,</span>
<br/>
<span>For servants task she asks with grace.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“What, what</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">say well take her Stasia.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“Well take her, Trophimus.</span>
<br/>
<span>We are old and little wearies us;</span>
<br/>
<span>Hes almost grown within a year,</span>
<br/>
<span>But yet hell need more care, I fear.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“Truly hell need care,</span>
<br/>
<span>And now, praise God, Ive done my share.</span>
<br/>
<span>My knees are failing, so now</span>
<br/>
<span>You poor thing, tell us your wage,</span>
<br/>
<span>It is by the year or how?”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“What ever you like to give.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“No, no, its needful to know,</span>
<br/>
<span>Its needful, my daughter,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i5">to count ones wage.</span>
<br/>
<span>This you must learn, count what you earn.</span>
<br/>
<span>This is the proverb</span>
<br/>
<span>Who counts not his money</span>
<br/>
<span>Hasnt got any.</span>
<br/>
<span>But, child, how will this do?</span>
<br/>
<span>You dont know us,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i5">We dont know you.</span>
<br/>
<span>Youll stay with us a few days,</span>
<br/>
<span>Get acquainted with our ways;</span>
<br/>
<span>Well see you day by day,</span>
<br/>
<span>Bye and bye well talk of pay.</span>
<br/>
<span>Is it so, daughter?”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“Very good, uncle.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“We invite you into the house.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And so they to agreement came.</span>
<br/>
<span>The young woman seemed always the same,</span>
<br/>
<span>Cheerful and happy as shed married a lord</span>
<br/>
<span>Whod buy up villages just at her word.</span>
<br/>
<span>She in the house and out doth work</span>
<br/>
<span>From morning light to evenings mirk.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And yet the child is her special care;</span>
<br/>
<span>Whatever befalls, shes the mother there.</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor Monday nor Sunday this mother misses</span>
<br/>
<span>To give its bath and its white dresses.</span>
<br/>
<span>She plays and sings, makes wagons and things,</span>
<br/>
<span>And on a holiday, plays with it all the day.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Wondering, the old folks gaze,</span>
<br/>
<span>But to God they give the praise.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>So the servant never rests,</span>
<br/>
<span>But the night her spirit tests.</span>
<br/>
<span>In her chamber then, I ween,</span>
<br/>
<span>Many a tear she sheds unseen.</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet none knows nor sees it all</span>
<br/>
<span>But the little Mark so small.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Nor knows he why in hours of night</span>
<br/>
<span>His tossings break her slumbers light.</span>
<br/>
<span>So from her couch she quickly leaps,</span>
<br/>
<span>The coverings oer his limbs she keeps.</span>
<br/>
<span>With sign of cross the child she blesses,</span>
<br/>
<span>Her gentle care her love confesses.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Each morning Mark spreads out his hands</span>
<br/>
<span>To the Servant as she stands;</span>
<br/>
<span>Accepts, unknowing, a mothers care.</span>
<br/>
<span>Only to grow is his affair.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="naimechka-4" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">IV</h3>
<p>
<span>Meantime many a year has rolled,</span>
<br/>
<span>Many waters to the sea have flowed,</span>
<br/>
<span>Trouble to the home has come,</span>
<br/>
<span>Many a tear down the cheek has run.</span>
<br/>
<span>Poor old Stasia in earth they laid.</span>
<br/>
<span>Hardly old Trophim from death they saved.</span>
<br/>
<span>The cursed trouble roared so loud,</span>
<br/>
<span>And then it went to sleep, I trow.</span>
<br/>
<span>From the dark woods where she frightened lay</span>
<br/>
<span>Peace came back in the home to stay.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">The little Mark is farmer now.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">With ox-teams great in the fall must go</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">To far Crimea to barter there</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Skins for salt and goods more rare.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">The Servant and Trophimus</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">in counsel wise</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Plans for his marriage</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">now devise.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">Dared she her thoughts utter</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">For the Czars daughter</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Shed send in a trice.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">But the most she could say</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">While thinking this way</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Was, “Ask Marks advice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">“My daughter, well ask him,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">And then well affiance him.”</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">So they gave him sage advice,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">And they made decision nice.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Soon his grave friends about him stand.</span>
<br/>
<span>He sends them to woo, a stately band.</span>
<br/>
<span>Back they come with towels on shoulder</span>
<br/>
<span>Ere the day is many hours older.</span>
<br/>
<span>The sacred bread they have exchanged,</span>
<br/>
<span>The bargain now is all arranged.</span>
<br/>
<span>Theyve found a maiden in noble dress,</span>
<br/>
<span>A princess true, you well may guess.</span>
<br/>
<span>Such a queen is in this affiance</span>
<br/>
<span>As with a general might make alliance.</span>
<br/>
<span>“Hail, and well done,” the old man says,</span>
<br/>
<span>“And now lets have no more delays.</span>
<br/>
<span>When the marriage, where the priest,</span>
<br/>
<span>What about the wedding feast?</span>
<br/>
<span>Who shall take the mothers place?</span>
<br/>
<span>How well miss my Stasias face.”</span>
<br/>
<span>The tears along his cheeks do fall,</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet a word does the Servants heart appall.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Hastily rushing from the room,</span>
<br/>
<span>In chamber near she falls in swoon.</span>
<br/>
<span>The house is silent, the light is dim,</span>
<br/>
<span>The sorrowing Servant thinks of him</span>
<br/>
<span>And whispers: “Mother, mother, mother.”</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="naimechka-5" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">V</h3>
<p>
<span>All the week at the wedding cake</span>
<br/>
<span>Young women in crowds both mix and bake.</span>
<br/>
<span>The old man is in wondrous glee,</span>
<br/>
<span>With all the young women dances he.</span>
<br/>
<span>At sweeping the yard</span>
<br/>
<span>He labors hard.</span>
<br/>
<span>All passers-by on foot and horseback</span>
<br/>
<span>He hales to the court where is no lack</span>
<br/>
<span>Of good home-brew.</span>
<br/>
<span>All comers he asks to the marriage</span>
<br/>
<span>And yet tis true</span>
<br/>
<span>He runs around so</span>
<br/>
<span>Youd not guess from his carriage</span>
<br/>
<span>Though his joy is such a wonderful gift,</span>
<br/>
<span>His old legs are most too heavy to lift.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Everywhere is disorder and laughter</span>
<br/>
<span>Within the house and in the yard.</span>
<br/>
<span>From store-room keg upon keg follows after,</span>
<br/>
<span>Workers voices everywhere heard.</span>
<br/>
<span>They bake, they boil,</span>
<br/>
<span>At sweeping toil,</span>
<br/>
<span>Tables and floors they wash them all.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And where is the Servant</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">who cares not for wage?</span>
<br/>
<span>To Kiev she is gone</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">on pilgrimage.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Yes, Anna went. The old man pled,</span>
<br/>
<span>Mark almost wept for her to stay,</span>
<br/>
<span>As mother sit, to see him wed.</span>
<br/>
<span>Her call of duty elsewhere lay.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“No, Mark, such honor must I not take</span>
<br/>
<span>To sit while you your homage make</span>
<br/>
<span>To parents dear.</span>
<br/>
<span>My mind is clear.</span>
<br/>
<span>A servant must not thy mother be</span>
<br/>
<span>Lest wealthy guests may laugh at thee.</span>
<br/>
<span>Now may Gods mercy with thee stay,</span>
<br/>
<span>To the saints at Kiev I go to pray.</span>
<br/>
<span>But yet again shall I return</span>
<br/>
<span>Unto your house, if you do not spurn</span>
<br/>
<span>My strength and toil.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>With pure heart</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">she blessed her Mark</span>
<br/>
<span>And weeping, passed</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">beyond the gate.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Then the wedding blossomed out;</span>
<br/>
<span>Work for musicians and the joyous rout</span>
<br/>
<span>Of dancing feet;</span>
<br/>
<span>While mead so sweet</span>
<br/>
<span>Of fermented honey with spices dashed</span>
<br/>
<span>Over the benches and tables splashed,</span>
<br/>
<span>Meanwhile the Servant limps along</span>
<br/>
<span>Hastening on the weary road to Kiev.</span>
<br/>
<span>To the city come, she does not rest,</span>
<br/>
<span>Hires to a woman of the town;</span>
<br/>
<span>For wages carries water.</span>
<br/>
<span>You see she money, money needs</span>
<br/>
<span>For prayers to Holy Barbara.</span>
<br/>
<span>She water carries, never tarries,</span>
<br/>
<span>And mighty store of pennies saves,</span>
<br/>
<span>Then in the Lavras awesome caves</span>
<br/>
<span>She seeks the blessed wealth she craves.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>From <abbr>St.</abbr> John she buys a magic cap,</span>
<br/>
<span>For Mark she bears it;</span>
<br/>
<span>And when he wears it,</span>
<br/>
<span>For never a headache need he give eer a rap.</span>
<br/>
<span>And then <abbr>St.</abbr> Barbara gives her a ring,</span>
<br/>
<span>To her new daughter back to bring.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Fore all the saints</span>
<br/>
<span class="i5">she makes prostrations,</span>
<br/>
<span>Then home returns</span>
<br/>
<span class="i5">having paid her oblations.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>She has come back.</span>
<br/>
<span>Fair Kate with Mark makes haste to meet her,</span>
<br/>
<span>Far beyond the gate they greet her,</span>
<br/>
<span>Then into the house they bring her,</span>
<br/>
<span>Draw her to the table there</span>
<br/>
<span>Quickly spread with choicest fare.</span>
<br/>
<span>Her news of Kiev they now request,</span>
<br/>
<span>While Kate arranges her couch for rest.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i4">“Why do they love me,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Why this respect?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Dear God above me,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Do they suspect?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Nay, thats not so,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Tis just goodness, I know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And still the Servant her secret kept,</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet from the hurt of her penance wept.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="naimechka-6" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">VI</h3>
<p>
<span>Three times have the waters frozen</span>
<br/>
<span>Thrice thawed at the touch of spring</span>
<br/>
<span>Three times did the Servant</span>
<br/>
<span>From Kiev her store of blessings bring.</span>
<br/>
<span>And each time gentle Katherine,</span>
<br/>
<span>As daughter, set her on her way,</span>
<br/>
<span>A fourth time led her by the mounds</span>
<br/>
<span>Where many dear departed lay.</span>
<br/>
<span>Then prayed to God for her safe return,</span>
<br/>
<span>For whom in absence her heart would yearn.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>It was the Sunday of the Virgin,</span>
<br/>
<span>Old Trophimus sat in garments white,</span>
<br/>
<span>On the bench, in wide straw hat,</span>
<br/>
<span>All amid the sunshine bright.</span>
<br/>
<span>Before him with a little dog</span>
<br/>
<span>His frolicsome grandson played,</span>
<br/>
<span>The while his little granddaughter</span>
<br/>
<span>Was in her mothers garb arrayed.</span>
<br/>
<span>Smiling he welcomed her as matron;</span>
<br/>
<span>For so at “visitors” they played.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“But what did you do with the visitors cake?</span>
<br/>
<span>Did somebody steal it in the wood,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or perhaps youve simply forgotten to bake?”</span>
<br/>
<span>For so they talked in lightsome mood.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But see—Who comes?</span>
<br/>
<span>Tis their Anna at the door!</span>
<br/>
<span>Run old and young! Wholl come before?</span>
<br/>
<span>But Anna waits not their welcome wordy.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“Is Mark at home, or still on journey?”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“Hes off on journey long enough,”</span>
<br/>
<span>Says the old man in accents gruff.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>With pain the Servant sadly saith,</span>
<br/>
<span>“Home have I come with failing breath;</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor mid strangers would I wait for death.</span>
<br/>
<span>May I but live my Mark to see,</span>
<br/>
<span>For something grievously weighs on me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>From little bag the childrens gifts</span>
<br/>
<span>She takes. Theres crosses and amulets.</span>
<br/>
<span>For Irene is of beads a string,</span>
<br/>
<span>And pictures too, and for Karpon</span>
<br/>
<span>A nightingale to sweetly sing,</span>
<br/>
<span>Toy horses and a wagon.</span>
<br/>
<span>A fourth time she brings a ring</span>
<br/>
<span>From <abbr>St.</abbr> Barbara to Katherine.</span>
<br/>
<span>Next the old mans gift she handles,</span>
<br/>
<span>Its just three holy waxen candles.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For Mark and herself</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">she nothing brought;</span>
<br/>
<span>For want of money</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">she nothing bought.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For want of strength</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">more funds to earn,</span>
<br/>
<span>Half a bun was her wealth</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">on her return.</span>
<br/>
<span>As to how to divide it</span>
<br/>
<span>Let the babes decide it.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="naimechka-7" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">VII</h3>
<p>
<span>She enters now the house so sweet,</span>
<br/>
<span>And daughter Katherine bathes her feet.</span>
<br/>
<span>Then sets her down to dine in state,</span>
<br/>
<span>But my Anna nor drank nor ate.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i4">“Katherine!</span>
<br/>
<span>When is our Sunday?”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i4">“After tomorrows the day.”</span>
<br/>
<span>“Prayers for the dead soon will we need</span>
<br/>
<span>Such as <abbr>St.</abbr> Nicholas may heed.</span>
<br/>
<span>Then we must an offering pay,</span>
<br/>
<span>For Mark tarries on the way.</span>
<br/>
<span>Perchance somewhere,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">from our vision hid,</span>
<br/>
<span>Sickness has taen him</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">which God forbid.”</span>
<br/>
<span>The tears dropped down</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">from the sad old eyes,</span>
<br/>
<span>So wearily did she</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">from the table rise.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i4">“Katherine,</span>
<br/>
<span>My race is run,</span>
<br/>
<span>All my earthly tasks are done.</span>
<br/>
<span>My powers no longer I command</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor on my feet have strength to stand.</span>
<br/>
<span>And yet, my Kate, how can I die</span>
<br/>
<span>While in this dear warm home I lie?”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The sickness harder grows amain,</span>
<br/>
<span>For her the sacred hosts appointed,</span>
<br/>
<span>Shes been with holy oils anointed,</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet nought relieves her pain.</span>
<br/>
<span>Old Trophim in courtyard walks a-ring</span>
<br/>
<span>Moving like a stricken thing.</span>
<br/>
<span>Katherine, for the suffrers sake</span>
<br/>
<span>Doth never rest for her eyelids take.</span>
<br/>
<span>And even the owls upon the roof</span>
<br/>
<span>Of coming evil tell the proof.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The suffrer now, each day, each hour,</span>
<br/>
<span>Whispers the question, with waning power</span>
<br/>
<span>“Daughter Katherine, is Mark yet here?</span>
<br/>
<span>So struggle I with doubt and fear,</span>
<br/>
<span>Did I but know Id see him for sure</span>
<br/>
<span>Through all my pain I might endure.”</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="naimechka-8" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">VIII</h3>
<p>
<span>Now Mark comes on with the caravan</span>
<br/>
<span>Singing blithely as he can.</span>
<br/>
<span>To the inns he makes no speed,</span>
<br/>
<span>Quietly lets the oxen feed.</span>
<br/>
<span>Mark brings home for Katherine</span>
<br/>
<span>Precious cloth of substance rich;</span>
<br/>
<span>For father dear, a girdle sewn</span>
<br/>
<span>Of silk so red.</span>
<br/>
<span>For Servant Anne</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">a gold cloth bonnet</span>
<br/>
<span>To deck her head,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">And kerchief, too</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">with white lace on it.</span>
<br/>
<span>For the children are shoes</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">with figs and grapes.</span>
<br/>
<span>Theres gifts for all,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">theres none escapes.</span>
<br/>
<span>For all he brings</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">red wine, so fine,</span>
<br/>
<span>From great old city</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">of Constantine.</span>
<br/>
<span>Theres buckets three</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">in each barrel put on.</span>
<br/>
<span>And caviar</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">from the river Don.</span>
<br/>
<span>Such gifts he has</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">in his wagon there,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor knows the sorrow</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">his loved ones bear.</span>
<br/>
<span>On comes Mark,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">knows not of worry;</span>
<br/>
<span>But hes come</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Give God the glory!</span>
<br/>
<span>The gate he opens,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Praising God.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“Hearst thou, Katherine?</span>
<br/>
<span>Run to meet him!</span>
<br/>
<span>Already hes come,</span>
<br/>
<span>Haste to greet him!</span>
<br/>
<span>Quickly bring him in to me.</span>
<br/>
<span>Glory to Thee, my Saviour dear,</span>
<br/>
<span>All the strength has come from Thee.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And she “Our Father” softly said</span>
<br/>
<span>Just as if in dream she read.</span>
<br/>
<span>The old man the team unyokes,</span>
<br/>
<span>Lays away the carven yokes.</span>
<br/>
<span>Kate at her husband strangely looks.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“Wheres Anna, Katherine?</span>
<br/>
<span>Ive been careless!</span>
<br/>
<span>Shes not dead?”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i4">“No, not dead,</span>
<br/>
<span>But very sick and calls for thee.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>On the threshold Mark appears,</span>
<br/>
<span>Standing there as torn by fears.</span>
<br/>
<span>But Anna whispers, “Be not afraid,</span>
<br/>
<span>Glory to God, Who my fears allayed.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Go forth, Katherine,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">though I love you well,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ive something to ask him,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">something to tell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>From the place</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">fair Katherine went;</span>
<br/>
<span>While Mark his head</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">oer the Servant bent.</span>
<br/>
<span>“Mark, look at me,</span>
<br/>
<span>Look at me well!</span>
<br/>
<span>A secret now I have to tell.</span>
<br/>
<span>On this faded form</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">set no longer store,</span>
<br/>
<span>No servant, I, nor Anna more,</span>
<br/>
<span>I am—”</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Came silence dumb,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor yet guessed Mark</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">What was to come.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Yet once again her eyelids raised</span>
<br/>
<span>Into his eyes she deeply gazed</span>
<br/>
<span>Mid gathering tears.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“I from thee forgiveness pray;</span>
<br/>
<span>Ive penance offered day by day</span>
<br/>
<span>All my life to serve another.</span>
<br/>
<span>Forgive me, son, of me,</span>
<br/>
<span>For I—am thy mother.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>She ceased to speak.</span>
<br/>
<span>A sudden faintness</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Mark did take:</span>
<br/>
<span>It seemed the earth</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">itself did shake.</span>
<br/>
<span>He roused</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">and to his mother crept,</span>
<br/>
<span>But the mother</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">forever slept.</span>
</p>
</section>
</article>
<article id="caucasus" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Caucasus<a href="#note-8" id="noteref-8" epub:type="noteref">8</a></h2>
<p>
<span>Beyond the hills are mightier hills,</span>
<br/>
<span>Cloud mountains oer them rise,</span>
<br/>
<span>Red, red have flowed their streams and rills,</span>
<br/>
<span>Theyre sown with human woes and sighs.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>There long ago in days of old</span>
<br/>
<span>Olympus Czar, the angry Jove,</span>
<br/>
<span>His wrath did pour on a hero bold,</span>
<br/>
<span>On brave Prometheus, he who strove</span>
<br/>
<span>The fire of heaven to seize for men.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>On mountain side, in vultures den</span>
<br/>
<span>He suffered what no mortal pen</span>
<br/>
<span>May well indite. The savage beak</span>
<br/>
<span>Of his hearts blood doth daily reek.</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet the torn heart again revives,</span>
<br/>
<span>To triumph oer its tortures strives.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Our souls yield not to grievous ills,</span>
<br/>
<span>To freedom march our stubborn wills.</span>
<br/>
<span>Though waves of trouble oer us roll</span>
<br/>
<span>The waves move not the steadfast soul.</span>
<br/>
<span>Our living spirit is not in chains,</span>
<br/>
<span>The word of God in glory reigns.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Tis not for us to challenge Thee,</span>
<br/>
<span>Though life rolls on in toil and tears;</span>
<br/>
<span>Though we Thy purpose cannot see</span>
<br/>
<span>We cling to hope mid doubts and fears.</span>
<br/>
<span>Our cause lies sunk in drunken sleep</span>
<br/>
<span>When will it awaken, Lord?</span>
<br/>
<span>Oppressors gloat and patriots weep,</span>
<br/>
<span>When wilt strength to us afford?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>So weary, then art Thou, Oh God,</span>
<br/>
<span>Canst life to us no longer give?</span>
<br/>
<span>Thy Truth we trust beneath the rod,</span>
<br/>
<span>Believing in Thy strength we live.</span>
<br/>
<span>Our cause shall rise,</span>
<br/>
<span>Our freedom rise</span>
<br/>
<span>Though tyrants rage:</span>
<br/>
<span>To Thee alone,</span>
<br/>
<span>All nations bow</span>
<br/>
<span>Through age on age</span>
<br/>
<span>And yet meantime</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">the streams do flow</span>
<br/>
<span>And ever tinged with blood</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">they go.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Beyond the hills are mightier hills,</span>
<br/>
<span>Cloud mountains oer them rise.</span>
<br/>
<span>Red, red have flowed their streams and rills,</span>
<br/>
<span>Theyre sown with human woes and sighs.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Look at us in tender heartedness,</span>
<br/>
<span>All in hunger dire and nakedness,</span>
<br/>
<span>Forging freedom in unhappiness,</span>
<br/>
<span>Toiling ever without blessedness.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The bones of soldiers bleaching lie,</span>
<br/>
<span>In blood and tears must many die.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>In faith, theres widows tears, I think,</span>
<br/>
<span>To all the Czars to give to drink.</span>
<br/>
<span>Then theres tears of many a maiden</span>
<br/>
<span>Falling so soft in the lonely night.</span>
<br/>
<span>Hot tears of mothers, sorrow-laden,</span>
<br/>
<span>Dry tears of fathers, in grievous plight.</span>
<br/>
<span>Not rivers, but a sea has flowed,</span>
<br/>
<span>A burning sea.</span>
<br/>
<span>To all the Czars who in triumph rode,</span>
<br/>
<span>With their hounds and gamekeepers,</span>
<br/>
<span>Their dogs and their beaters,</span>
<br/>
<span>May glory be!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>To you be glory, hills of blue,</span>
<br/>
<span>All clad in monstrous chains of frost.</span>
<br/>
<span>Glory to you, ye heroes true,</span>
<br/>
<span>With God your labors are not lost.</span>
<br/>
<span>Fear not to fight, youll win at length,</span>
<br/>
<span>For you, Gods ruth,</span>
<br/>
<span>For you is freedom, for you is strength,</span>
<br/>
<span>And Holy Truth.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="to-the-circassians" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">To the Circassians</h2>
<p>
<span>“Our bread and home,” in your own tongue,</span>
<br/>
<span>In Tartar words you dare to say.</span>
<br/>
<span>Nobody gave it you, your world is young,</span>
<br/>
<span>So far no one has taen it away.</span>
<br/>
<span>Nobody yet has led you in fetters,</span>
<br/>
<span>But we have wisdom in such matters.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>In Gods good word we daily read,</span>
<br/>
<span>But from dungeons where the prisners moan,</span>
<br/>
<span>To Caesars high-exalted throne</span>
<br/>
<span>Tis gilt without, while the souls in need.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>To us for wisdom should you come,</span>
<br/>
<span>Well teach you all the tricks of trade.</span>
<br/>
<span>Good Christians we, with church and Icon;</span>
<br/>
<span>All goods, even God, our own weve made.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But that house of yours</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Still hurts our eyes;</span>
<br/>
<span>If we didnt give it,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Why should you have it?</span>
<br/>
<span>These ways of yours</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">cause much surprise.</span>
<br/>
<span>We never granted</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">The corn you planted.</span>
<br/>
<span>The sunlight, you</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Should pay for, too.</span>
<br/>
<span>Oh, quite uneducated you!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Good Christians we, no pagans needy,</span>
<br/>
<span>Sound in the faith, not a bit greedy.</span>
<br/>
<span>If you in peace from us would learn</span>
<br/>
<span>Store of wisdom you would earn.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>With us what great illumination,</span>
<br/>
<span>A contnent neath our domination;</span>
<br/>
<span>Siberia great, for illustration.</span>
<br/>
<span>Theres jails and folks yond computation.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>From Moldavia to Finlandia</span>
<br/>
<span>Many tongues but nothing said,</span>
<br/>
<span>Except for blessings on your head.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>A holy monk here reads the Bible,</span>
<br/>
<span>Tells the story, tis no libel,</span>
<br/>
<span>Of king who stole his neighbours wife,</span>
<br/>
<span>And then the neighbour he robbed of life.</span>
<br/>
<span>The king now dwells in paradise.</span>
<br/>
<span>Such folks mong us to heaven rise.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Oh, you creatures unenlightened,</span>
<br/>
<span>Be ye not of our dogmas frightened!</span>
<br/>
<span>Our gentle art of “grab” well teach;</span>
<br/>
<span>A coin to the church and heaven youll reach.</span>
<br/>
<span>Whatever is there we cant do?</span>
<br/>
<span>The stars we count and crops we sow;</span>
<br/>
<span>The foreigner curse,</span>
<br/>
<span>Then fill our purse,</span>
<br/>
<span>The people selling,</span>
<br/>
<span>Tis truth Im telling.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>No niggers we sell, Im not making jokes,</span>
<br/>
<span>Just common ordnary Christian folks.</span>
<br/>
<span>No Spaniards we, may God forbid!</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor Jews that stolen goods have hid.</span>
<br/>
<span>So dont you think youd like to be</span>
<br/>
<span>Such law-abiding folks as we?</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="to-the-rich-and-great" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">To the Rich and Great</h2>
<p>
<span>Is it by the apostles law</span>
<br/>
<span>That ye your brother love?</span>
<br/>
<span>Hypocrites and chatterers,</span>
<br/>
<span>Yere cursed of God above.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Not for your brothers soul you care.</span>
<br/>
<span>Its only for his skin.</span>
<br/>
<span>The skin from off his back youd tear,</span>
<br/>
<span>Some trifling prize to win.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Theres furs for your daughter,</span>
<br/>
<span>Slippers for your wife,</span>
<br/>
<span>And things that you dont utter</span>
<br/>
<span>About your private life.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="to-the-master" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">To the Master</h2>
<p>
<span>Oh, wherefore wert Thou crucified,</span>
<br/>
<span>Thou Christ, the Son of God?</span>
<br/>
<span>That the word of Truth be glorified?</span>
<br/>
<span>Or that we good folks should scape the rod</span>
<br/>
<span>Of avenging wrath, by faith confest?</span>
<br/>
<span>Meanwhile of Thee we make a jest,</span>
<br/>
<span>Mocking Thy love in our conducts test.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Cathedrals and chapels with Icons grand!</span>
<br/>
<span>Mid smoke of incense lavers stand.</span>
<br/>
<span>There before Thy pictured Presence</span>
<br/>
<span>Crowds unwearied make obeisance;</span>
<br/>
<span>For spoil, for war, for slaughter seek</span>
<br/>
<span>Their brothers blood to shed they pray,</span>
<br/>
<span>And then before Thy form so meek</span>
<br/>
<span>The loot of burning towns they lay.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="again-addressing-the-circassians" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Again Addressing the Circassians</h2>
<p>
<span>The sun on us has shone so bright,</span>
<br/>
<span>We wish to you to give the light.</span>
<br/>
<span>That sun of truth we seek to show</span>
<br/>
<span>To children blind, all in a row.</span>
<br/>
<span>Wonders all to see well let you</span>
<br/>
<span>If in our hands we only get you.</span>
<br/>
<span>Of building jails well show the trick,</span>
<br/>
<span>How prisners gainst their fetters kick.</span>
<br/>
<span>Theres knotted whips for stubborn backs,</span>
<br/>
<span>For saucy nations painful racks.</span>
<br/>
<span>In change for your mountains grand and old,</span>
<br/>
<span>With this instruction we you greet.</span>
<br/>
<span>These are the last things, already we hold</span>
<br/>
<span>The plains and seas beneath our feet.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="to-jacques-de-balmont" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">To Jacques de Balmont</h2>
<p>
<span>So they drove thee along, my dearest friend,</span>
<br/>
<span>For Ukraina didst thou shed</span>
<br/>
<span>That good hearts blood of thine so red.</span>
<br/>
<span>Our countrys hangman, shame to think,</span>
<br/>
<span>Muscovite poison gave thee to drink.</span>
<br/>
<span>Oh, friend of mine, unforgotten friend,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ukraine to thee doth welcome send.</span>
<br/>
<span>Let thy spirit fly with Cossacks bold.</span>
<br/>
<span>Along the shores of Dnieper old.</span>
<br/>
<span>Oer ancient tombs hold watch and guard</span>
<br/>
<span>And weep with us in labors hard.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Till I return to meet thee,</span>
<br/>
<span>My songs I send to greet thee.</span>
<br/>
<span>Such songs they are of bitter woe.</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet ever, always, these I sow.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Thoughts and songs forever sowing,</span>
<br/>
<span>To the care of winds bestowing.</span>
<br/>
<span>Gentle winds of Ukraine</span>
<br/>
<span>Shall bear them like the dew</span>
<br/>
<span>To that dear land of mine</span>
<br/>
<span>To greet my friends so true.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="to-the-dead" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<hgroup>
<h2 epub:type="title">To the Dead<a href="#note-9" id="noteref-9" epub:type="noteref">9</a></h2>
<p epub:type="subtitle">And the Living, and the Unborn, Countrymen of Mine, in Ukraine, or Out of It, My Epistle of Friendship</p>
</hgroup>
<section id="to-the-dead-1" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">I</h3>
<p>
<span>Twas dawn, tis evening light,</span>
<br/>
<span>So passes Day divine.</span>
<br/>
<span>Again the weary folk</span>
<br/>
<span>And all things earthly</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Take their rest.</span>
<br/>
<span>I alone, remorseful</span>
<br/>
<span>For my countrys woes,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Weep day and night,</span>
<br/>
<span>By the thronged cross-roads,</span>
<br/>
<span>Unheeded by all.</span>
<br/>
<span>They see not, they know not;</span>
<br/>
<span>Deaf ears, they hear not.</span>
<br/>
<span>They trade old fetters for new</span>
<br/>
<span>And barter righteousness,</span>
<br/>
<span>Make nothing of their God.</span>
<br/>
<span>They harness the people</span>
<br/>
<span>With heavy yokes.</span>
<br/>
<span>Evil they plough,</span>
<br/>
<span>With evil they sow.</span>
<br/>
<span>What crops will spring?</span>
<br/>
<span>What harvest will you see?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Arouse ye, unnatural ones.</span>
<br/>
<span>Children of Herod!</span>
<br/>
<span>Look on this calm Eden,</span>
<br/>
<span>Your own Ukraine,</span>
<br/>
<span>Bestow on her tender love,</span>
<br/>
<span>Mighty in her ruins.</span>
<br/>
<span>Break your fetters,</span>
<br/>
<span>Join in brotherhood,</span>
<br/>
<span>Seek not in foreign lands</span>
<br/>
<span>Things that are not.</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor yet in Heaven,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor in strangers fields,</span>
<br/>
<span>But in your own house</span>
<br/>
<span>Lies your righteousness,</span>
<br/>
<span>Your strength and your liberty.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>In the world is but one Ukraine,</span>
<br/>
<span>Dnieper—there is only one.</span>
<br/>
<span>But you must off to foreign lands</span>
<br/>
<span>To look for something grand and good.</span>
<br/>
<span>Wealth of goodness and liberty,</span>
<br/>
<span>Fraternity and so forth, you found.</span>
<br/>
<span>And back you brought to Ukraine</span>
<br/>
<span>From places far away</span>
<br/>
<span>A wondrous force</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">of lofty sounding words,</span>
<br/>
<span>And nothing more.</span>
<br/>
<span>Shout aloud</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">That God created you for this,</span>
<br/>
<span>To bow the knee to lies,</span>
<br/>
<span>To bend and bend again</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Your spineless backs</span>
<br/>
<span>And skin again</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Your brothers</span>
<br/>
<span>These ignorant buckwheat farmers.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Try again</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">to ripen crops of truth and light</span>
<br/>
<span>In Germany</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">or some other foreign place.</span>
<br/>
<span>If one should add</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">all our present misery</span>
<br/>
<span>To the wealth</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Our fathers stole</span>
<br/>
<span>Orphaned, indeed, would Dnieper be</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">with all his holy hills.</span>
<br/>
<span>Faugh! if it should happen</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">that you would never come back,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or get snuffed out</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">just where you were spawned</span>
<br/>
<span>No children would weep</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">nor mothers lament,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor in Gods house be heard</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">the story of your shame.</span>
<br/>
<span>The sun would not shine</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">on the stench of your filth</span>
<br/>
<span>Oer the clean, broad, free land,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor would the people know</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">what eagles you were</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor turn their heads to gaze.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Arouse ye, be men!</span>
<br/>
<span>For evil days come.</span>
<br/>
<span>Quickly a people enchained</span>
<br/>
<span>Shall tear off their fetters;</span>
<br/>
<span>Judgment will come,</span>
<br/>
<span>Dnieper and the hills will speak.</span>
<br/>
<span>A hundred rivers</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">flow to the sea</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">with your childrens blood,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor will there be any to help.</span>
<br/>
<span>Smoke clouds hide the sun</span>
<br/>
<span>Through the ages</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Your sons shall curse you.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Wash yourselves</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">The divine likeness in you</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">defile not with slime.</span>
<br/>
<span>Befool not your children</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">that they were born to the world</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">to be lordlings.</span>
<br/>
<span>The eyes of men untaught</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">see deep, deep</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">into your soul.</span>
<br/>
<span>Poor things they may be,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">yet they know the ass</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">in the lions skin.</span>
<br/>
<span>And they will judge you,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">the foolish will pronounce the doom</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">of the wise.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="to-the-dead-2" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">II</h3>
<p>
<span>Did you but study as you should,</span>
<br/>
<span>You would possess your own wisdom;</span>
<br/>
<span>And you might creep up to heaven.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But it is we</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Oh, no, not we;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">It is I—no, no, not I.</span>
<br/>
<span>Ive seen it all, I know it.</span>
<br/>
<span>Theres neither heaven nor hell,</span>
<br/>
<span>Not even God</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Just I and the short, fat German,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Nothing more.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Grand, my brother.</span>
<br/>
<span>You ask me something,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">“I dont know,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Ask the German,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Hell tell you.”</span>
<br/>
<span>Thats the way you learn</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">in foreign lands.</span>
<br/>
<span>The German says</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">“You are Mongols.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Mongols, Mongols;</span>
<br/>
<span>Naked children</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">of the golden Tamerlane.”</span>
<br/>
<span>The German says</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">“You are Slavs,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Slavs, Slavs;</span>
<br/>
<span>Ugly offspring</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">of famous ancestors.”</span>
<br/>
<span>You read the writings</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">of the great Slavophils,</span>
<br/>
<span>Push in among them,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Get on so well</span>
<br/>
<span>That you know all the tongues</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">of the Slavonic peoples</span>
<br/>
<span>Except your own—God help it.</span>
<br/>
<span>“Oh, as for that</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Sometime well speak</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">our own language</span>
<br/>
<span>When the German</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">shows us how,</span>
<br/>
<span>Our history too,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">he will explain,</span>
<br/>
<span>Then well be alright!”</span>
<br/>
<span>It came about finely</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">on the German advice.</span>
<br/>
<span>They learned to speak so well</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">That even the mighty German</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">could not understand them,</span>
<br/>
<span>Not to speak of common folks.</span>
<br/>
<span>Oh what a noise and racket!</span>
<br/>
<span>“Theres Harmony, and Force</span>
<br/>
<span>And Music—and everything.</span>
<br/>
<span>And as for History</span>
<br/>
<span>The Epic of a free people!</span>
<br/>
<span>Whats all this about the poor Romans,</span>
<br/>
<span>Brutus, etcetera, and the Devil knows what?</span>
<br/>
<span>Have we not our Brutuses</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">and our Cocles</span>
<br/>
<span>Glorious and never to be forgotten?</span>
<br/>
<span>Why freedom grew up with us</span>
<br/>
<span>Bathed in the Dnieper</span>
<br/>
<span>Rested her head on our hills,</span>
<br/>
<span>The far-flung Steppes</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">are her garments.”</span>
<br/>
<span>Alas! twas in blood she bathed</span>
<br/>
<span>Pillowed her head on burial mounds</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">On bodies of Cossack freemen,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Corpses despoiled.</span>
<br/>
<span>But look ye well</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Read again of that glory!</span>
<br/>
<span>Read it, word by word,</span>
<br/>
<span>Miss not a jot nor tittle,</span>
<br/>
<span>Grasp it all:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Then ask yourselves</span>
<br/>
<span>Who are we? Whose sons?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Of what fathers?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">By whom and why enchained?</span>
<br/>
<span>Then you shall see</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Who your glorious Brutuses are.</span>
<br/>
<span>Slaves, door-mats!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">mud of Moscow</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">scum of Warsaw</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">are your lords;</span>
<br/>
<span>Glorious heroes they are.</span>
<br/>
<span>Why are you so proud</span>
<br/>
<span>Sons of unhappy Ukraine.</span>
<br/>
<span>That you go so well under the yoke?</span>
<br/>
<span>Even better you go</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">than your fathers went.</span>
<br/>
<span>Dont brag so much,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">they just skin you,</span>
<br/>
<span>They rendered out your fathers bones</span>
<br/>
<span>Perhaps you are proud</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">that your brotherhood</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">has defended the faith.</span>
<br/>
<span>You cooked your dough-nuts</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">oer the fires</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">of burning Turkish towns,</span>
<br/>
<span>of Sinope and Trebizond.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">True for you</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">And you ate them</span>
<br/>
<span>And now they pain you,</span>
<br/>
<span>And on your own fields</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">the wily German</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">plants potatoes.</span>
<br/>
<span>You buy them from him,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">eat them for the good of your health</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">and praise Cossackery.</span>
<br/>
<span>But with whose blood</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">was the land sprinkled</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">that grew the potatoes?</span>
<br/>
<span>Oh, thats a trifle;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">so long as its good for the garden.</span>
<br/>
<span>Very proud you are</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">that we once destroyed Poland.</span>
<br/>
<span>Very true indeed:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Poland fell,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">but fell on top of us.</span>
<br/>
<span>So your fathers shed their blood</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">for Moscow and for Warsaw,</span>
<br/>
<span>And left to you, their sons</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">their fetters and their glory.</span>
</p>
</section>
<section id="to-the-dead-3" epub:type="chapter">
<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">III</h3>
<p>
<span>To the very limit</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">has our country come,</span>
<br/>
<span>Her own children</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">crucify her</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">worse than the Poles.</span>
<br/>
<span>How like beer</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">they draw off</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">her righteous blood.</span>
<br/>
<span>They would, you see</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">enlighten the maternal eyes</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">with everlasting fires;</span>
<br/>
<span>Lead on the poor blind cripple</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">after the spirit of the age,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">German fashion!</span>
<br/>
<span>Fine, go ahead,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">show us the way!</span>
<br/>
<span>Let the old mother learn</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">how to look after such children</span>
<br/>
<span>Show away!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">For this instruction,</span>
<br/>
<span>Dont worry</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Good motherly reward will be.</span>
<br/>
<span>The illusion fades</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">from your greedy eyes</span>
<br/>
<span>Glory shall you see,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">such glory as fits</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">the sons of deceitful sires.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>To study then, my brothers,</span>
<br/>
<span>Think and read,</span>
<br/>
<span>Learn from the foreigner</span>
<br/>
<span>Despise not your own.</span>
<br/>
<span>Who forgets his mother</span>
<br/>
<span>Him God will punish.</span>
<br/>
<span>Foreigners will despise him</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor admit him to their homes;</span>
<br/>
<span>His children shall as strangers be</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor shall he find happiness on earth.</span>
<br/>
<span>I weep when I remember</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">the deeds of our fathers,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">deeds I can not forget.</span>
<br/>
<span>Heavy on my heart they lie;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Half my life Id give</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">could I forget them.</span>
<br/>
<span>Such is our glory</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">the glory of Ukraine.</span>
<br/>
<span>So read then</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">that ye may see</span>
<br/>
<span>Not in dream</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">but in vision</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">All the wrongs that lie</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">beneath yon mighty tombs.</span>
<br/>
<span>Ask then of the martyrs</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">by whom, when and for what</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">were they crucified.</span>
<br/>
<span>Embrace then</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">brothers mine</span>
<br/>
<span>The least of your brethren.</span>
<br/>
<span>That your mother may smile again,</span>
<br/>
<span>Smile through her tears.</span>
<br/>
<span>Give blessings to your children</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">with hard toilers hands;</span>
<br/>
<span>With free lips kiss them</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">when they are washed and clad.</span>
<br/>
<span>Forget the shameful past</span>
<br/>
<span>And the true glory shall live again,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">the glory of the Ukraine.</span>
<br/>
<span>And clear light of day</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">not twilight gloom</span>
<br/>
<span>Shall gently shine.</span>
<br/>
<span>Love one another, my brothers,</span>
<br/>
<span>I pray you—I plead.</span>
</p>
</section>
</article>
<article id="lyric-1" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<hgroup>
<h2 epub:type="title">Lyric<a href="#note-10" id="noteref-10" epub:type="noteref">10</a></h2>
<p hidden="hidden" epub:type="subtitle">From Day to Day, from Night to Night</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>From day to day, from night to night</span>
<br/>
<span>My summer passes; autumn creeps</span>
<br/>
<span>Nearer; before mine eyes the light</span>
<br/>
<span>Fades out; my soul is blind and sleeps.</span>
<br/>
<span>Everything sleeps; and I ponder:</span>
<br/>
<span>Do I yet live, or do I wander,</span>
<br/>
<span>A dead thing, through my term of years,</span>
<br/>
<span>A void of laughter as of tears?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Come to me, my fate! Where art thou?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Oh, I have no fate.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">God, if Thou dost scorn to love me,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Grant me but Thy hate!</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Only let my heart not wither</span>
<br/>
<span>Slowly, day by day,</span>
<br/>
<span>Useless as a fallen tree-trunk</span>
<br/>
<span>Rotting by the way.</span>
<br/>
<span>Let me live, and live in spirit</span>
<br/>
<span>Loving all mankind;</span>
<br/>
<span>Or, if not, then let my curses</span>
<br/>
<span>Strike the sunlight blind.</span>
<br/>
<span>Wretched is the fettered captive,</span>
<br/>
<span>Dying, and a slave;</span>
<br/>
<span>But more wretched he that, living,</span>
<br/>
<span>Sleeps, as in a grave,</span>
<br/>
<span>Till he falls asleep for ever,</span>
<br/>
<span>Leaving not a sign</span>
<br/>
<span>That there faded into darkness</span>
<br/>
<span>Something once divine.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">Come to me, my fate! Where art thou?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Oh, I have no fate.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">God, if Thou dost scorn to love me,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Grant me but Thy hate!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="a-poem-of-exile" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">A Poem of Exile</h2>
<p>
<span>I count in prison the days and nights</span>
<br/>
<span>And then forget the count.</span>
<br/>
<span>How heavily, Oh Lord,</span>
<br/>
<span>Do these days pass!</span>
<br/>
<span>And the years flow after them,</span>
<br/>
<span>Quietly they flow,</span>
<br/>
<span>Bearing with them</span>
<br/>
<span>Good and ill.</span>
<br/>
<span>Everything do they gather</span>
<br/>
<span>Never do they return.</span>
<br/>
<span>You need not plead,</span>
<br/>
<span>Your prayers unanswered fall.</span>
<br/>
<span>Mid oozy swamps</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">among the weeds</span>
<br/>
<span>Year after weary year</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">has sadly flowed.</span>
<br/>
<span>Much of something have they taken</span>
<br/>
<span>From dark store-house of my heart;</span>
<br/>
<span>Borne it quietly to the sea,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">As quietly the sea swallowed it.</span>
<br/>
<span>Not gold and silver</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Did they take from me,</span>
<br/>
<span>But good years of mine</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Freighted with loneliness,</span>
<br/>
<span>Sorrows written on the heart</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">With unseen pen.</span>
<br/>
<span>And a fourth year passes</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">So gently, so slowly,</span>
<br/>
<span>The fourth book</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">of my imprisonment</span>
<br/>
<span>I start to stitch up,</span>
<br/>
<span>Embroidering it with tears</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Of homesickness</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">in a foreign land.</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet such woe</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">tells itself not in words.</span>
<br/>
<span>Never, never</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">in the wide world.</span>
<br/>
<span>In far away captivity</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">There are no words</span>
<br/>
<span>Not even tears,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Just nothingness;</span>
<br/>
<span>Not even God above thee,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nothing is there to see,</span>
<br/>
<span>None with whom to speak,</span>
<br/>
<span>Not even desire for life.</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet thou must live!</span>
<br/>
<span>I must! I must!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">But for what?</span>
<br/>
<span>That I may not lose my soul?</span>
<br/>
<span>My soul is not worth</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">such suffering!</span>
<br/>
<span>Then why must I live on</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">in the world,</span>
<br/>
<span>Drag these fetters</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">in my jail?</span>
<br/>
<span>Because, perchance,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">my own Ukraine</span>
<br/>
<span>I shall see again.</span>
<br/>
<span>Again I shall pour out</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">my words of sorrow</span>
<br/>
<span>To the green groves</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">and rich meadows.</span>
<br/>
<span>No family have I of my own</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">in all Ukraine,</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet the people there</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">are different from these foreigners</span>
<br/>
<span>I would walk again</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">among the bright villages</span>
<br/>
<span>On the Dniepers banks</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">and sing my thoughts</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">gentle and sad.</span>
<br/>
<span>Grant me,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Oh God of mercy</span>
<br/>
<span>That I may live</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">to see again</span>
<br/>
<span>Those green meadows,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">those ancestral tombs.</span>
<br/>
<span>If Thou wilt not grant this,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Yet bear my tears</span>
<br/>
<span>To my Ukraine.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Because, God,</span>
<br/>
<span>I die for her.</span>
<br/>
<span>It may be that I shall lie</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">more lightly in foreign soil</span>
<br/>
<span>When sometimes in Ukraine</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">they speak of my memory.</span>
<br/>
<span>Carry my tears then</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Oh God of loving kindness,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or at least</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">send hope into my soul.</span>
<br/>
<span>I can think no more</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">with my poor head,</span>
<br/>
<span>For coldness of death</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">comes on me</span>
<br/>
<span>When I think that they may</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">bury me in foreign soil</span>
<br/>
<span>And bury my thoughts with me</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">And none tell about me</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">in the Ukraine.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And yet it may be</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">that gently through the years</span>
<br/>
<span>My tear-embroidered songs</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">shall fly sometime</span>
<br/>
<span>And fall</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">as dew upon the ground</span>
<br/>
<span>On the tender heart of youth,</span>
<br/>
<span>And youth shall nod assent.</span>
<br/>
<span>And weep for me</span>
<br/>
<span>Making mention of me in its prayers.</span>
<br/>
<span>Well, as it will be</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">so it will be.</span>
<br/>
<span>Perhaps twill swim</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Perhaps twill wade</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet even if they crucify me for it</span>
<br/>
<span>Ill still write my verses.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="memories-of-an-exile" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Memories of an Exile</h2>
<p>
<span>Memories of mine,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Memories of home,</span>
<br/>
<span>Sole wealth of mine,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Whereer I roam.</span>
<br/>
<span>When sorrows lower</span>
<br/>
<span>In evil hour</span>
<br/>
<span>And griefs oertake me</span>
<br/>
<span>Youll not forsake me</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">From the land of my early loves</span>
<br/>
<span>You will fly like grey-winged doves</span>
<br/>
<span>From broad Dniepers shore</span>
<br/>
<span>Oer the steppes to soar.</span>
<br/>
<span>Here the Kirghiz Tartars</span>
<br/>
<span>Dwell naked in poverty.</span>
<br/>
<span>Theyre wretched as martyrs</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet this is their liberty;</span>
<br/>
<span>To God they may pray</span>
<br/>
<span>And none say them nay.</span>
<br/>
<span>Will you but fly to meet me,</span>
<br/>
<span>With gentle words</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Ill greet ye.</span>
<br/>
<span>Of my heart</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">ye children dear</span>
<br/>
<span>Oer past loves</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">well shed a tear.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="hymn-of-exile" epub:type="z3998:hymn bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Hymn of Exile</h2>
<p>
<span>The sun goes down beyond the hill,</span>
<br/>
<span>The shadows darken, birds are still;</span>
<br/>
<span>From fields no more come toilers voices</span>
<br/>
<span>In blissful rest the world rejoices.</span>
<br/>
<span>With lifted heart I, gazing stand,</span>
<br/>
<span>Seek shady grove in Ukraines land.</span>
<br/>
<span>Uplifted thus, mid memories fond</span>
<br/>
<span>My heart finds rest, oer the hills beyond.</span>
<br/>
<span>On fields and woods the darkness falls</span>
<br/>
<span>From heaven blue a bright star calls,</span>
<br/>
<span>The tears fall down. Oh, evening star!</span>
<br/>
<span>Hast thou appeared in Ukraine far?</span>
<br/>
<span>In that fair land do sweet eyes seek thee</span>
<br/>
<span>Dear eyes that once were wont to greet me?</span>
<br/>
<span>Have eyes forgotten their tryst to keep?</span>
<br/>
<span>Oh then, in slumber let them sleep</span>
<br/>
<span>No longer oer my fate to weep.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="on-the-eleventh-psalm" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">On the Eleventh Psalm</h2>
<p>
<span>Merciful God, how few</span>
<br/>
<span>Good folk remain on earth.</span>
<br/>
<span>Behold, each one in heart</span>
<br/>
<span>Is setting snares for another.</span>
<br/>
<span>But with fine words,</span>
<br/>
<span>And lips honey-sweet</span>
<br/>
<span>They kiss—and wait</span>
<br/>
<span>To see how soon</span>
<br/>
<span>Their brother to his grave</span>
<br/>
<span>Will find his way.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>But Thou who art Lord alone</span>
<br/>
<span>Shuttest up the evil lips,</span>
<br/>
<span>That great-speaking tongue</span>
<br/>
<span>That says:⁠—</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">“No trifling thing are we,</span>
<br/>
<span>How glorious shall we show</span>
<br/>
<span>In intellect and speech.</span>
<br/>
<span>Who is that Lord</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">that will forbid</span>
<br/>
<span>Our thoughts and words?”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Yea, the Lord shall say to Thee</span>
<br/>
<span>“I shall arise, this day</span>
<br/>
<span>On their behalf</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">People of mine in chains,</span>
<br/>
<span>The poor and humble ones</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">These will I glorify.</span>
<br/>
<span>Little, dumb and slaves are they,</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet on guard about them</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Will I set my Word.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Like trampled grass</span>
<br/>
<span>Shall perish your thoughts</span>
<br/>
<span>And words alike.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Like silver, hammered, beaten,</span>
<br/>
<span>Seven times melted oer the fire,</span>
<br/>
<span>Are thy words, Oh Lord.</span>
<br/>
<span>Scatter these holy words of Thine,</span>
<br/>
<span>Oer all the earth,</span>
<br/>
<span>That Thy children</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">little and poor</span>
<br/>
<span>May believe in miracles on earth.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="prayer-1" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<hgroup>
<h2 epub:type="title">Prayer</h2>
<p hidden="hidden" epub:type="subtitle">To Tsars and Kings</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>To Tsars and kings</span>
<br/>
<span>who tax the world,</span>
<br/>
<span>Send dollars and ducats,</span>
<br/>
<span>And fetters well-forged.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>To toiling heads and toiling hands,</span>
<br/>
<span>Laboring on these stolen lands</span>
<br/>
<span>Endurance and strength.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>To me, my God, on this sad earth,</span>
<br/>
<span>Give me but love,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">the hearts paradise</span>
<br/>
<span>And nothing more.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="prayer-2" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<hgroup>
<h2 epub:type="title">Prayer</h2>
<p hidden="hidden" epub:type="subtitle">My Prayer for the Tsars</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>My prayer for the Tsars,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">These traffickers in blood,</span>
<br/>
<span>That Thou on them wouldst put</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Fetters of iron, in dungeons deep.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>My prayer for the peoples</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">toiling long,</span>
<br/>
<span>Do Thou to them</span>
<br/>
<span class="i5">on their ravaged lands,</span>
<br/>
<span>Send down Thy strength</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">most merciful One.</span>
<br/>
<span>And for the pure in heart</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Grant angel guards beside them,</span>
<br/>
<span>To keep them pure.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And for myself, Oh Lord,</span>
<br/>
<span>I ask nought else</span>
<br/>
<span>But truth on earth to love,</span>
<br/>
<span>And one true friend</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">to love me.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="prayer-3" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<hgroup>
<h2 epub:type="title">Prayer</h2>
<p hidden="hidden" epub:type="subtitle">For Those That Have Done Wrong to Me</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>For those that have done wrong to me,</span>
<br/>
<span>No longer do I fetters ask,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor dungeons deep.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For hands that faithful toil for good</span>
<br/>
<span>Send Thy instructions gracious aid,</span>
<br/>
<span>And Holy strength.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For tender ones,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">the pure in heart</span>
<br/>
<span>Do Thou, Oh God,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">their virtue save</span>
<br/>
<span>With angels guard.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For all Thy children on this earth</span>
<br/>
<span>May they Thy wisdom</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">know alike,</span>
<br/>
<span>In brother love.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="prayer-4" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<hgroup>
<h2 epub:type="title">Prayer</h2>
<p hidden="hidden" epub:type="subtitle">To Those of the Ever-Greedy Eyes</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>To those of the ever-greedy eyes,</span>
<br/>
<span>Gods of earth, the Tsars,</span>
<br/>
<span>Are the ploughs and the ships,</span>
<br/>
<span>And all good things of earth</span>
<br/>
<span>For these little gods.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>To toiling hands,</span>
<br/>
<span>To toiling brains</span>
<br/>
<span>Is given to plough the barren field,</span>
<br/>
<span>To think, to sow, and take no rest</span>
<br/>
<span>And reap the fields anon.</span>
<br/>
<span>Such the reward of toiling hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For the true-hearted lowly ones,</span>
<br/>
<span>Peace-loving saints,</span>
<br/>
<span>Oh, Creator of heaven and earth,</span>
<br/>
<span>Give long life on earth,</span>
<br/>
<span>And paradise beyond.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>All good things of earth</span>
<br/>
<span>Are for these gods, the Tsars,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ploughs and ships,</span>
<br/>
<span>All wealth of earth</span>
<br/>
<span>For us—good lack!</span>
<br/>
<span>Is left to love our brothers.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="mighty-wind" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Mighty Wind</h2>
<p>
<span>Mighty wind, mighty wind!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With the sea thou speakest;</span>
<br/>
<span>Waken it, play with it,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Question the blue sea.</span>
<br/>
<span>It knows where my lover is,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Far away it bore him.</span>
<br/>
<span>It will tell, the sea will tell,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">What it has done with him.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>If it has drowned my darling,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Beat on the blue sea.</span>
<br/>
<span>I go to seek my loved one,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And to drown my woe.</span>
<br/>
<span>If I find him, Ill cling to him,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">On his heart Ill faint.</span>
<br/>
<span>Then waves bear me with him</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Whereer the winds do blow.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>If my lover is beyond the sea,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Mighty wind, thou knowest</span>
<br/>
<span>Where he goes, what he does,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With him thou speakest.</span>
<br/>
<span>If he weeps, then I shall weep,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">If not, I sing.</span>
<br/>
<span>If my dark-haired one has perished,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">I shall perish, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Then bear my soul away</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Where my loved one is,</span>
<br/>
<span>Plant me as a red viburnum</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">On his tomb.</span>
<br/>
<span>Better that an orphan lie</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In a strangers field,</span>
<br/>
<span>Over him his sweetheart</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Will bud and bloom.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>As a blossom of viburnum</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Over him Ill bloom,</span>
<br/>
<span>That foreign sun may burn him not,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Nor strangers trample on his tomb.</span>
<br/>
<span>At even Ill grieve,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In the morning Ill weep.</span>
<br/>
<span>The sun comes up,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">My tears Ill dry,</span>
<br/>
<span>And no one sees.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Mighty wind, mighty wind!</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With the sea thou speakest.</span>
<br/>
<span>Waken it, play on it,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Question the blue sea.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="hymn-of-the-nuns" epub:type="z3998:hymn bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Hymn of the Nuns<a href="#note-11" id="noteref-11" epub:type="noteref">11</a></h2>
<p>
<span>Strike lightning above this house,</span>
<br/>
<span>This house of God where we are dying,</span>
<br/>
<span>Where we think lightly of Thee, God,</span>
<br/>
<span>And, thinking lightly, sing</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Hallelujah.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Were it not for Thee,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">we had loved men;</span>
<br/>
<span>Had courted and married,</span>
<br/>
<span>Brought up children,</span>
<br/>
<span>Taught them and sung</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">Hallelujah.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Thou hast cheated us,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">poor wretches!</span>
<br/>
<span>And we, defrauded and unlucky,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ourselves have fooled Thee,</span>
<br/>
<span>And howled and sung: Hallelujah.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>With barbers shears hast put us in this nunnery,</span>
<br/>
<span>And we—young women still</span>
<br/>
<span>We dance and sing,</span>
<br/>
<span>And singing say: Hallelujah.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="to-the-goddess-of-fame" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">To the Goddess of Fame</h2>
<p>
<span>Hail, thou barmaid slovenly,</span>
<br/>
<span>Staggring like fish-wife drunkenly;</span>
<br/>
<span>Where the dickens dost thou stay,</span>
<br/>
<span>With thy stock of haloes, pray?</span>
<br/>
<span>Was it on credit thou gavest one</span>
<br/>
<span>To the thief of Versailles, that Corsican?</span>
<br/>
<span>Perhaps now thourt whispering in some fellows ear;</span>
<br/>
<span>And all because of boredom or beer.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Come then awhile with me to lodge,</span>
<br/>
<span>Fondly, together, trouble well dodge.</span>
<br/>
<span>With a smack and a kiss</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">This dreary weather,</span>
<br/>
<span>Lets make a bargain</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">to live together.</span>
<br/>
<span>Thourt a painted queen</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">with manners free,</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet in thy company</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">Id gladly be.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>What though thou holdest</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">thy nose in air,</span>
<br/>
<span>Dancest in barrooms</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">with kings at a fair;</span>
<br/>
<span>And most with that chap</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">they call the Tsar;</span>
<br/>
<span>Still thats no bother,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">thy stocks still at par.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Come, my dear, make haste to me,</span>
<br/>
<span>Let me have a look at thee;</span>
<br/>
<span>Bestow on me a little smile,</span>
<br/>
<span>Neath thy bright wings</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">Id rest a while.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="iconoclasm" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Iconoclasm</h2>
<p>
<span>Bright light, peaceful light,</span>
<br/>
<span>Free light, light unbound!</span>
<br/>
<span>What is this, brother light?</span>
<br/>
<span>In thy warm home thourt found</span>
<br/>
<span>By censers smoked,</span>
<br/>
<span>By priests robes choked,</span>
<br/>
<span>Fettered and fooled</span>
<br/>
<span>And by Icons ruled.</span>
<br/>
<span>Yield thee not in the fight,</span>
<br/>
<span>Waken up, brother light!</span>
<br/>
<span>Shed thy pure rays</span>
<br/>
<span>On mankinds ways.</span>
<br/>
<span>All priestly robes in rags well tear</span>
<br/>
<span>And light our pipes from censers rare,</span>
<br/>
<span>With Icons now the flames will roar,</span>
<br/>
<span>With holy brooms well sweep the floor.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="my-testament" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">My Testament</h2>
<p>
<span>When I die, remember, lay me</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Lowly in the silent tomb,</span>
<br/>
<span>Where the prairie stretches free,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Sweet Ukraine, my cherished home.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>There, mid meadows grassy sward,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Dniepers waters pouring</span>
<br/>
<span>May be seen and may be heard,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Mighty in their roaring.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>When from Ukraine waters bear</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Rolling to the sea so far</span>
<br/>
<span>Foemans blood, no longer there</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Stay I where my ashes are.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Grass and hills Ill leave and fly.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Unto throne of God Ill go,</span>
<br/>
<span>There in heaven to pray on high,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">But, till then, no God I know.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Standing then about my grave,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Make ye haste, your fetters tear!</span>
<br/>
<span>Sprinkled with the foemans blood</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Then shall rise your freedom fair.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Then shall spring a kinship great,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">This a family new and free.</span>
<br/>
<span>Sometimes in your glorious state,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Gently, kindly, speak of me.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-water-fairy" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Water Fairy</h2>
<p>
<span>Me my mother bore</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Mid lofty palace walls,</span>
<br/>
<span>Me at midnight hour</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">In Dniepers flood she bathed;</span>
<br/>
<span>And bathing, she murmured</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Over little me:</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">“Swim, swim, little maid,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Adown the Dnieper water,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Youll swim out a fairy</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Next midnight, my daughter.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">I go to dance with him,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">My faithless lover;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Youll come and lure him</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Into the river.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">No more shall he laugh at me,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">At my tears out-flowing,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">But oer him the Dnieper</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Its blue water is rolling.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Swim out, my only one,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">He will come to dance with thee.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Waves, waves, little waves,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">Greet ye the water fairy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Sadly she cried and ran away,</span>
<br/>
<span>As I floated down the stream.</span>
<br/>
<span>But sister fairies met me,</span>
<br/>
<span>I grew as in a dream.</span>
<br/>
<span>A week, and I dance at midnight,</span>
<br/>
<span>And watch from the water pools.</span>
<br/>
<span>What does my sinful mother?</span>
<br/>
<span>Lives she still in shameful pleasure,</span>
<br/>
<span>With him, the faithless lord?</span>
<br/>
<span>Thus the fairy whispered,</span>
<br/>
<span>Then like diving bird she dropped</span>
<br/>
<span>Back in the stream,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the willows bowed above her.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The mother comes to walk by the river side.</span>
<br/>
<span>Tis weary in the palace,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the lord is not at home.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">She comes to the bank, thinks of her little one</span>
<br/>
<span>Whom she plunged in with muttered charms.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">What matters it? She would go back to the palace,</span>
<br/>
<span>But no, hers is another fate.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">She noticed not how the river maidens hastened</span>
<br/>
<span>Till they caught her, and tickled her mid laughter.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Joyfully they caught her, and played and tickled her,</span>
<br/>
<span>And put her in a basket net</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">(Unto her death).</span>
<br/>
<span>And then they roared and laughed;</span>
<br/>
<span>But one little fairy did not laugh.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="lyric-2" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<hgroup>
<h2 epub:type="title">Lyric<a href="#note-12" id="noteref-12" epub:type="noteref">12</a></h2>
<p hidden="hidden" epub:type="subtitle">Only Friend, Clear Evening Twilight</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>Only friend, clear evening twilight,</span>
<br/>
<span>Come and talk to me!</span>
<br/>
<span>Cross the hills to share my prison</span>
<br/>
<span>Very secretly.</span>
<br/>
<span>Tell me how the sun in splendour</span>
<br/>
<span>Sets behind the hill;</span>
<br/>
<span>How the Dnieper lasses carry</span>
<br/>
<span>Pitchers down to fill;</span>
<br/>
<span>How the broad-leaved sycamore</span>
<br/>
<span>Flings his branches wide;</span>
<br/>
<span>How the willow kneels to pray</span>
<br/>
<span>By the river-side;</span>
<br/>
<span>How her green boughs kiss the water</span>
<br/>
<span>Trailing, half asleep,</span>
<br/>
<span>And unchristened ghosts of babies</span>
<br/>
<span>Swing from them and weep;</span>
<br/>
<span>How lost souls at lonely cross-roads</span>
<br/>
<span>Cower, wild and dumb,</span>
<br/>
<span>When the owl shrieks from the alder</span>
<br/>
<span>Of the wrath to come;</span>
<br/>
<span>How the magic flowers open</span>
<br/>
<span>At the moonbeams touch.⁠ ⁠…</span>
<br/>
<span>But of men, what would you tell me</span>
<br/>
<span>Me, who know so much?</span>
<br/>
<span>Far too much! And you know nothing;</span>
<br/>
<span>Why, you understand</span>
<br/>
<span>Nothing of what men are doing</span>
<br/>
<span>Now, in my dear land.</span>
<br/>
<span>But I know, and I will tell you,</span>
<br/>
<span>Tell you, without end.⁠ ⁠…</span>
<br/>
<span>When you speak with God tomorrow,</span>
<br/>
<span>Look you tell Him, friend.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-reaper" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Reaper<a href="#note-13" id="noteref-13" epub:type="noteref">13</a></h2>
<p>
<span>Through the fields the reaper goes</span>
<br/>
<span>Piling sheaves on sheaves in rows;</span>
<br/>
<span>Hills, not sheaves, are these.</span>
<br/>
<span>Where he passes howls the earth,</span>
<br/>
<span>Howl the echoing seas.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>All the night the reaper reaps,</span>
<br/>
<span>Never stays his hands nor sleeps,</span>
<br/>
<span>Reaping endlessly;</span>
<br/>
<span>Whets his blade and passes on.⁠ ⁠…</span>
<br/>
<span>Hush, and let him be.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Hush, he cares not how men writhe</span>
<br/>
<span>With naked hands against the scythe.</span>
<br/>
<span>Wouldst thou hide in field or town?</span>
<br/>
<span>Where thou art, there he will come;</span>
<br/>
<span>He will reap thee down.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Serf and landlord, great and small;</span>
<br/>
<span>Friendless wandering singer—all,</span>
<br/>
<span>All shall swell the sheaves that grow</span>
<br/>
<span>To mountains; even the Tsar shall go.<a href="#note-14" id="noteref-14" epub:type="noteref">14</a></span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And me too the scythe shall find</span>
<br/>
<span>Cowering alone behind</span>
<br/>
<span>Bars of iron; swift and blind,</span>
<br/>
<span>Strike, and pass, and leave me, stark</span>
<br/>
<span>And forgotten in the dark.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="lyric-3" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<hgroup>
<h2 epub:type="title">Lyric<a href="#note-15" id="noteref-15" epub:type="noteref">15</a></h2>
<p hidden="hidden" epub:type="subtitle">I Care Not, Shall I See My Dear</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>I care not, shall I see my dear</span>
<br/>
<span>Own land before I die, or no,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor who forgets me, buried here</span>
<br/>
<span>In desert wastes of alien snow;</span>
<br/>
<span>Though all forget me—better so.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>A slave from my first bitter years,</span>
<br/>
<span>Most surely I shall die a slave</span>
<br/>
<span>Ungraced of any kinsmens tears;</span>
<br/>
<span>And carry with me to my grave</span>
<br/>
<span>Everything; and leave no trace,</span>
<br/>
<span>No little mark to keep my place</span>
<br/>
<span>In the dear lost Ukraina</span>
<br/>
<span>Which is not ours, though our land.</span>
<br/>
<span>And none shall ever understand;</span>
<br/>
<span>No father to his son shall say:</span>
<br/>
<span>—Kneel down, and fold your hands, and pray;</span>
<br/>
<span>He died for our Ukraina.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I care no longer if the child</span>
<br/>
<span>Shall pray for me, or pass me by.</span>
<br/>
<span>One only thing I cannot bear:</span>
<br/>
<span>To know my land, that was beguiled</span>
<br/>
<span>Into a death-trap with a lie,</span>
<br/>
<span>Trampled and ruined and defiled</span>
<br/>
<span>Ah, but I care, dear God; I care!</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="a-dream" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">A Dream<a href="#note-16" id="noteref-16" epub:type="noteref">16</a></h2>
<p>
<span>Oh my lofty hills</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet not so lofty</span>
<br/>
<span>But beautiful ye are.</span>
<br/>
<span>Sky-blue in the distance;</span>
<br/>
<span>Older than old Pereyaslav,</span>
<br/>
<span>Or the tombs of Vebla,</span>
<br/>
<span>Like those clouds that rest</span>
<br/>
<span>Beyond the Dnieper.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I walk with quiet step,</span>
<br/>
<span>And watch the wonders peeping out.</span>
<br/>
<span>Out of the clouds march silently</span>
<br/>
<span>Scarped cliff and bush and solitary tree;</span>
<br/>
<span>White cottages creep forth</span>
<br/>
<span>Like children in white garments,</span>
<br/>
<span>Playing in the valleys gloom.</span>
<br/>
<span>And far below our gray old Cossack,</span>
<br/>
<span>The Dnieper, sings musically</span>
<br/>
<span>Amid the woods.</span>
<br/>
<span>And then beyond the Dnieper on the hillside,</span>
<br/>
<span>The little Cossack church</span>
<br/>
<span>Stands like a chapel,</span>
<br/>
<span>With its leaning cross.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Long it stands there, gazing, waiting,</span>
<br/>
<span>For the Cossacks from the Delta;</span>
<br/>
<span>To the Dnieper prattles,</span>
<br/>
<span>Telling all its woe</span>
<br/>
<span>From its green-stained windows,</span>
<br/>
<span>Like eyes of the dead,</span>
<br/>
<span>It peeps as from the tomb.</span>
<br/>
<span>Dost thou look for restoration?</span>
<br/>
<span>Expect not such glory.</span>
<br/>
<span>Robbed are thy people.</span>
<br/>
<span>For what care the wicked lords</span>
<br/>
<span>For the ancient Cossack fame?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And Traktemir above the hill</span>
<br/>
<span>Scatters its wretched houses</span>
<br/>
<span>Like a drunken beggars bags.</span>
<br/>
<span>And there is old Manaster</span>
<br/>
<span>Once a Cossack town.</span>
<br/>
<span>Is that the one that used to be?</span>
<br/>
<span>All, all is gone, as a playground for the kings</span>
<br/>
<span>The land of the Zaporogues and the village</span>
<br/>
<span>All, all the greedy ones have taken.</span>
<br/>
<span>And you hills, you permitted it!</span>
<br/>
<span>May no one look on you more</span>
<br/>
<span>Cursed ones!—No! No!</span>
<br/>
<span>Not you I curse,</span>
<br/>
<span>But our quarreling generals,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the inhuman Poles.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Forgive me, my lofty ones,</span>
<br/>
<span>Lofty ones and blue,</span>
<br/>
<span>Finest in the world, and holiest,</span>
<br/>
<span>Forgive me, I pray God.</span>
<br/>
<span>For so I love my poor Ukraina,</span>
<br/>
<span>I might blaspheme the holy God,</span>
<br/>
<span>And for her lose my soul.</span>
<br/>
<span>On a curve of lofty Traktemir</span>
<br/>
<span>A lonely cottage like an orphan stands,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ready to plunge from off the height</span>
<br/>
<span>To loved Dnieper, far below.</span>
<br/>
<span>From that house Ukraina is seen,</span>
<br/>
<span>And all the land of the Hetmans.</span>
<br/>
<span>Beside the house an old gray father sits.</span>
<br/>
<span>Beyond the river the sun goes down</span>
<br/>
<span>As he sits, and looks, and sadly thinks.</span>
<br/>
<span>“Alas, Alas!” the old man cries,</span>
<br/>
<span>“Fools, that lost this land of God,</span>
<br/>
<span>The Hetmans land.”</span>
<br/>
<span>His brow with thought is clouded,</span>
<br/>
<span>Something bitter he would have said</span>
<br/>
<span>But did not.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“Much have I wandered in the world,</span>
<br/>
<span>In peasants coat and garb of lord.</span>
<br/>
<span>How is it beyond the Ural,</span>
<br/>
<span>Among the Kirghiz, Tartars?</span>
<br/>
<span>Good God, even there it is better</span>
<br/>
<span>Than in our Ukraina.</span>
<br/>
<span>Perhaps because the Kirghiz</span>
<br/>
<span>Are not Christians.</span>
<br/>
<span>Much evil hast thou done, Oh Christ,</span>
<br/>
<span>Hast changed the people God had made.</span>
<br/>
<span>Our Cossacks lost their foolish heads</span>
<br/>
<span>For truth, and the Christian faith.</span>
<br/>
<span>Much blood they shed, their own and others.</span>
<br/>
<span>And were they better for it?</span>
<br/>
<span>Bah! No! They were ten times worse.</span>
<br/>
<span>Apart from knife and auto-da-fe</span>
<br/>
<span>They have chained up the people,</span>
<br/>
<span>And they kill them.</span>
<br/>
<span>Oh gentlemen, Christian gentlemen!”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>My grey old man, with sorrow beaten,</span>
<br/>
<span>Ceased, and bent his brave old head.</span>
<br/>
<span>The evening sun gilded the woods,</span>
<br/>
<span>The river and fields were covered with gold.</span>
<br/>
<span>Mazeppas cathedral in whiteness shines;</span>
<br/>
<span>Great Bogdans tomb is gleaming,</span>
<br/>
<span>The willows bend oer the road to Kiev,</span>
<br/>
<span>And hide the Three Brothers ancient graves.</span>
<br/>
<span>Trubail and Alta, mid the reeds</span>
<br/>
<span>Approach, unite in sisterly embrace.</span>
<br/>
<span>Everything, everything gladdens the eyes,</span>
<br/>
<span>But the heart is sad and will not see.</span>
<br/>
<span>The glowing sun has bade farewell</span>
<br/>
<span>To the dark land.</span>
<br/>
<span>The round moon rises with her sister star,</span>
<br/>
<span>Out they step from behind the clouds.</span>
<br/>
<span>The clouds rejoiced</span>
<br/>
<span>But the old man gazed,</span>
<br/>
<span>And his tears rolled down.</span>
<br/>
<span>“I pray Thee, merciful God,</span>
<br/>
<span>Mighty Lord, Heavenly Judge,</span>
<br/>
<span>Suffer me not to perish;</span>
<br/>
<span>Grant me strength to overcome my woe.</span>
<br/>
<span>To live out my life on these sacred hills:</span>
<br/>
<span>To glorify Thee and rejoice in Thy beauty,</span>
<br/>
<span>And at last, though beaten by the peoples sins.</span>
<br/>
<span>To be buried on these lofty hills,</span>
<br/>
<span>And to abide on them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>He dried his tears,</span>
<br/>
<span>Hot tears, though not the tears of youth;</span>
<br/>
<span>And thought on the blessed years of long ago</span>
<br/>
<span>Where was this?</span>
<br/>
<span>What, how, and when?</span>
<br/>
<span>Was it truth, or was it dream?</span>
<br/>
<span>On what seas have I been sailing?</span>
<br/>
<span>The green wood in the twilight,</span>
<br/>
<span>The maiden with eyebrows dark,</span>
<br/>
<span>The moon at rest among the stars,</span>
<br/>
<span>The nightingale on the viburnum,</span>
<br/>
<span>Whether in silence or in song</span>
<br/>
<span>Praising the Holy God.</span>
<br/>
<span>And all, all is in Ukraina.</span>
<br/>
<span>The old man smiled</span>
<br/>
<span>Well, it may be—you cant avoid the truth</span>
<br/>
<span>So it was—they wooed,</span>
<br/>
<span>They parted, they did not marry.</span>
<br/>
<span>She left him to live alone,</span>
<br/>
<span>To live out his life.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The old man was sad again,</span>
<br/>
<span>Wandered long about the house,</span>
<br/>
<span>Then prayed to God,</span>
<br/>
<span>Went in the house to sleep,</span>
<br/>
<span>And the moon was swathed in clouds.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Thus in a foreign land</span>
<br/>
<span>I dreamed my dream,</span>
<br/>
<span>As if born again to the world</span>
<br/>
<span>In freedom once more.</span>
<br/>
<span>Grant me, Oh God, some time,</span>
<br/>
<span>In old age, perchance,</span>
<br/>
<span>To stand again on these stolen hills,</span>
<br/>
<span>In a little cottage,</span>
<br/>
<span>To bring my heart eaten out with sorrow</span>
<br/>
<span>To rest at last, on the hills above the Dnieper.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="kalina" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<hgroup>
<h2 lang="uk-Latn" epub:type="title" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Kalina</h2>
<p epub:type="subtitle">The Cranberry</p>
</hgroup>
<p>
<span>“My Daughter!</span>
<br/>
<span>Why dost thou visit the grave-hill?</span>
<br/>
<span>Why weepest thou; where goest thou?</span>
<br/>
<span>Like a grey dove at night thou moanest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>“It is nothing, my Mother, nothing.⁠ ⁠…”</span>
<br/>
<span>And she went to the hill again,</span>
<br/>
<span>While, weeping, the mother waited.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>That is not Herb-o-Dreams<a href="#note-17" id="noteref-17" epub:type="noteref">17</a></span>
<br/>
<span>Blooming at night on the grave;</span>
<br/>
<span>A betrothed maiden <i lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Kalina</i> plants,</span>
<br/>
<span>Waters it with her tears,</span>
<br/>
<span>Beseeching Heaven:</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">“O God, send rain at night,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Abundant dew,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">So that <i lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Kalina</i></span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">May bud forth.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Perhaps my lover</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">From the other world</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Will come.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Lo, there Ill make a nest</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And I myself</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Shall fly to it,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And we shall sing together</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">On the bough.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Yea, we shall weep and sing</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And murmur low</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Together we shall in the dawning wing</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Our flight to other worlds.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>And the <i lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Kalina</i> grew,</span>
<br/>
<span>Spreading forth branches green.⁠ ⁠…</span>
<br/>
<span>Three years she visited the grave</span>
<br/>
<span>The fourth year dawned.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>That is not Herb-o-Dreams</span>
<br/>
<span>That blooms at night.</span>
<br/>
<span>It is a weeping girl</span>
<br/>
<span>Who to <i lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Kalina</i> speaks:</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i1">“O my <i lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Kalina</i>, broad and tall,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Watered before the sunset.⁠ ⁠…</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">—Nay, but broad tear-rivers</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Drenched thy roots.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And to these rivers coward-talk,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Whispring, would give ill-fame.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">My girl companions look askance at me</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And they neglect <i lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Kalina</i>.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Deck now my head,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Wash it with dew.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Cover me from the sun</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">With thy broad branches</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Shielding.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Then they will find me, bury me.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Mocking at me;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">And thy broad branches</span>
<br/>
<span class="i1">Children will tear off.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>At sundown in <i lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Kalina</i>s leaves</span>
<br/>
<span>A bird was singing.</span>
<br/>
<span>Under the bush a young girl lies,</span>
<br/>
<span>She sleeps, she sleeps, nor will arise.</span>
<br/>
<span>Tired, the youthful one. She rests for ever.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The Sun rose over the hill;</span>
<br/>
<span>Rose the folk joyfully</span>
<br/>
<span>From happy slumbers.</span>
<br/>
<span>But all, all the long night through</span>
<br/>
<span>A mother slept not.</span>
<br/>
<span>Weeping, she could see</span>
<br/>
<span>The vacant place at table,</span>
<br/>
<span>Lone in the dusk,</span>
<br/>
<span>And she wept bitterly.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-monk" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Monk<a href="#note-18" id="noteref-18" epub:type="noteref">18</a></h2>
<p>
<span>At Kiev, in the low countrie,</span>
<br/>
<span>Things happened once that youll never see.</span>
<br/>
<span>For evermore, twas done;</span>
<br/>
<span>Nevermore, twill come.</span>
<br/>
<span>Yet I, my brother,</span>
<br/>
<span>Will with hope foregather,</span>
<br/>
<span>That this again Ill see,</span>
<br/>
<span>Though grief it brings to me.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>To Kiev in the low countrie</span>
<br/>
<span>Came our brotherhood so free.</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor slave nor lord have they,</span>
<br/>
<span>But all in noble garb so gay</span>
<br/>
<span>Came splashing forth in mood full glad</span>
<br/>
<span>With velvet coats the streets are clad.</span>
<br/>
<span>They swagger in silken garments pride</span>
<br/>
<span>And they for no one turn aside.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>In Kiev, in the low countrie,</span>
<br/>
<span>All the cossacks dance in glee,</span>
<br/>
<span>Just like water in pails and tubs</span>
<br/>
<span>Wine pours out mid great hubbubs.</span>
<br/>
<span>Wine cellars and bars</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">with all the barmaids</span>
<br/>
<span>The cossacks have bought</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">with their wines and meads.</span>
<br/>
<span>With their heels they stamp</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">And dancing tramp,</span>
<br/>
<span>While the music roars</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">And joyously soars.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The people gaze</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">with gladsome eyes,</span>
<br/>
<span>While scholars of the cloister schools</span>
<br/>
<span>All in silence bred by rules,</span>
<br/>
<span>Look on with wondering surprise.</span>
<br/>
<span>Unhappy scholars! Were they free,</span>
<br/>
<span>They would cossacks dancing be.</span>
<br/>
<span>Who is this by musicians surrounded</span>
<br/>
<span>To whom the people give fame unbounded?</span>
<br/>
<span>In trousers of velvet red,</span>
<br/>
<span>With a coat that sweeps the road</span>
<br/>
<span>A cossack comes. Lets weep oer his years</span>
<br/>
<span>For what theyve done is cause for tears.</span>
<br/>
<span>But theres life in the old man yet I trust,</span>
<br/>
<span>For with dancing kicks</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">he spurns the dust.</span>
<br/>
<span>In his short time left with men to mingle</span>
<br/>
<span>The cossack sings,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">this tipsy jingle.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">“On the road is a crab, crab, crab.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Let us catch it grab, grab, grab.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Girls are sewing jab, jab, jab.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Lets dance on trouble,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Dance on it double</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Then on well bubble</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Already this trouble</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Weve danced on double</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">So lets dance on trouble.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Dance on it double,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Then on well bubble.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>To the Cloister of our Saviour</span>
<br/>
<span>Old gray-hair dancing goes.</span>
<br/>
<span>After him his joyous crowd</span>
<br/>
<span>And all the folk of Kiev so proud.</span>
<br/>
<span>Dances he up to the doors</span>
<br/>
<span>“Hoo-hoo! Hoo-hoo!” he roars.</span>
<br/>
<span>Ye holy monks give greeting</span>
<br/>
<span>A comrade from the prairie meeting.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">Opens the sacred door,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">The Cossack enters in.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Again the portal closes</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">To open no more for him.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">What a man was there</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">this old gray-hair,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Who said to the world farewell?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Twas Semon Palee,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i6">a cossack free</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Whom trouble could not quell.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Oh in the East the sun climbs high</span>
<br/>
<span>And sets again in the western sky.</span>
<br/>
<span>In narrow cell in monkish gown</span>
<br/>
<span>Tramps an old man up and down,</span>
<br/>
<span>Then climbs the highest turret there</span>
<br/>
<span>To feast his eyes on Kiev so fair.</span>
<br/>
<span>And sitting on the parapet</span>
<br/>
<span>He yields a while to fond regret.</span>
<br/>
<span>Anon he goes to the woodland spring,</span>
<br/>
<span>The belfry near, where sweet bells ring.</span>
<br/>
<span>The cooling draught to his mind recalls</span>
<br/>
<span>How hard was life without the walls.</span>
<br/>
<span>Again the monk his cell floor paces</span>
<br/>
<span>Mid the silent walls his life retraces.</span>
<br/>
<span>The sacred book he holds in hand</span>
<br/>
<span>And loudly reads,</span>
<br/>
<span>The old mans mind to Cossack land</span>
<br/>
<span>Swiftly speeds.</span>
<br/>
<span>Now holy words do fade away,</span>
<br/>
<span>The monkish cell turns Cossack den,</span>
<br/>
<span>The glorious brotherhood lives again.</span>
<br/>
<span>The gray old captain, like an owl</span>
<br/>
<span>Peers beneath the monkish cowl.</span>
<br/>
<span>Music, dances, the citys calls,</span>
<br/>
<span>Rattling fetters, Moscows walls,</span>
<br/>
<span>Oer woods and snows</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">his eyes can see</span>
<br/>
<span>The banks of distant Yenisee.</span>
<br/>
<span>Upon his soul deep gloom has crept</span>
<br/>
<span>And thus the monk in sadness wept.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="i2">Down, Down! Bow thy head;</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">On thy fleshly cravings tread.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">In the sacred writings read</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Read, read, to the bell give heed,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Thy heart too long has ruled thee,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">All thy life its fooled thee.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Thy heart to exile led thee,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Now let it silent be.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">As all things pass away,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">So thou shalt pass away.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Thus mayst thou know thy lot,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">Mankind remembers not.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Though groans the old mans sadness tell.</span>
<br/>
<span>Upon his book he quickly fell,</span>
<br/>
<span>And tramped and tramped about his cell.</span>
<br/>
<span>He sits again in mood forlorn</span>
<br/>
<span>Wonders why he eer was born.</span>
<br/>
<span>One thing alone he fain would tell.</span>
<br/>
<span>He loves his Ukraina well.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">For Matins now</span>
<br/>
<span class="i7">the great bell booms.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">The aged monk</span>
<br/>
<span class="i7">his cowl resumes.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">For Ukraina now to pray</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">My good old Palee limps away.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="drowsy-the-waves" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Drowsy the Waves</h2>
<p>
<span>Drowsy the waves and dim the sky,</span>
<br/>
<span>Across the shore and far away,</span>
<br/>
<span>Like drunken things the rushes sway</span>
<br/>
<span>Without a wind. O God on high,</span>
<br/>
<span>Is it decreed that longer yet</span>
<br/>
<span>Within this lockless prison set,</span>
<br/>
<span>Beside this sea that profits naught,</span>
<br/>
<span>I am to languish? Answering not,</span>
<br/>
<span>Like to a living thing, the grain</span>
<br/>
<span>Sways mute and yellowing on the plain;</span>
<br/>
<span>No tidings will it let me hear,</span>
<br/>
<span>And none besides to give me ear.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="see-fires-ablaze" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">See Fires Ablaze</h2>
<p>
<span>See fires ablaze, hear music sound</span>
<br/>
<span>The music weeps and nestles round.</span>
<br/>
<span>Een as a diamond, precious, fair,</span>
<br/>
<span>The eyes of youth are bright, how bright!</span>
<br/>
<span>Gladness and hope have set their light</span>
<br/>
<span>In joyous eyes. They know not care,</span>
<br/>
<span>Those youthful eyes—no sin is there.</span>
<br/>
<span>And all are filled with mirth and glee,</span>
<br/>
<span>And all are dancing. I alone</span>
<br/>
<span>Gaze, as there were a curse on me.</span>
<br/>
<span>I weep, I weep to all unknown.</span>
<br/>
<span>Why do I weep? Perchance to mourn,</span>
<br/>
<span>How without hap, as tempest-borne,</span>
<br/>
<span>The days of all my youth have flown.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="to-the-makers-of-sentimental-idyls" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">To the Makers of Sentimental Idyls</h2>
<p>
<span>Did you but know, fine dandy,</span>
<br/>
<span>The peoples life of misery</span>
<br/>
<span>You would not use such pretty phrases,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor give to God such empty praises.</span>
<br/>
<span>At our tears youre laughing,</span>
<br/>
<span>And our sorrows chaffing,</span>
<br/>
<span>Slaves cot in a shady spot</span>
<br/>
<span>You call it heaven! Rot!</span>
<br/>
<span>I lived once in such a shanty,</span>
<br/>
<span>Of childhoods tears I shed a plenty,</span>
<br/>
<span>In bitter sorrows we were wise,</span>
<br/>
<span>Home that you call paradise.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>No paradise I call thee,</span>
<br/>
<span>Little cottage in the wood,</span>
<br/>
<span>With the water pure beside thee</span>
<br/>
<span>Close by the village rude!</span>
<br/>
<span>There my mother bore me,</span>
<br/>
<span>Singing she tended me;</span>
<br/>
<span>My childs heart drank in her pain.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Cottage in the shady dell,</span>
<br/>
<span>Heaven outside, inside hell;</span>
<br/>
<span>But slavery there,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">with labor weary,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor time for prayer</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">in life so dreary.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>My mother good to her early grave</span>
<br/>
<span>Was hurled by sorrows wave on wave.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>The father weeping oer his young,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i3">(little and naked were we),</span>
<br/>
<span>Sank neath the weight of fated wrong</span>
<br/>
<span>And died in slavery.</span>
<br/>
<span>The children, we, of home bereft</span>
<br/>
<span>Like little mice mong neighbors crept.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Water drawer was I at school,</span>
<br/>
<span>My brothers toiled neath landlords rule.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For my sisters an evil fate must be,</span>
<br/>
<span>Though little doves they seemed to me;</span>
<br/>
<span>Into life as serfs theyre born,</span>
<br/>
<span>And die they must in that lot forlorn.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>I shudder yet, whereer I roam,</span>
<br/>
<span>When I think of life in that village home.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Evil-doers, Oh God, are we,</span>
<br/>
<span>An earthly heaven we had from Thee,</span>
<br/>
<span>Turned it into hell have we,</span>
<br/>
<span>And a second heaven is now our plea.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>Gently we live with our brothers now,</span>
<br/>
<span>With their lives our fields we plough;</span>
<br/>
<span>Fields that with their tears are wet,</span>
<br/>
<span>And yet</span>
<br/>
<span>What do we know?</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">yet it seems as if Thou!</span>
<br/>
<span>(For without Thy will</span>
<br/>
<span>Should we suffer ill?)</span>
<br/>
<span>Dost Thou, Oh Father in heaven holy</span>
<br/>
<span>Laugh at us the poor and lowly?</span>
<br/>
<span>Advise with them of noble birth</span>
<br/>
<span>How so cleverly to rule the earth?</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>For see the woods their branches waving,</span>
<br/>
<span>And there beyond, the white pool gleaming</span>
<br/>
<span>And willows oer the water bending,</span>
<br/>
<span>Garden of Eden it is in sooth,</span>
<br/>
<span>But of its deeds enquire the truth.</span>
</p>
<p>
<span>This wondrous earth should tell a story</span>
<br/>
<span>Of endless joy, and praise, and glory</span>
<br/>
<span>To Thee, Oh God, unique and holy.</span>
<br/>
<span>Unhallowed spot,</span>
<br/>
<span>Whence praise comes not!</span>
<br/>
<span>A world of tears where curses rise,</span>
<br/>
<span>To heaven above the hopeless skies.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="the-bondwomans-dream" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">The Bondwomans Dream</h2>
<p>
<span>The slave with sickle</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">reaped the wheat,</span>
<br/>
<span>Then wearily limped</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">among the stooks;</span>
<br/>
<span>But not to rest,</span>
<br/>
<span>Her little son she sought</span>
<br/>
<span>Who wakened crying</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">in cool nest</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">among the sheaves.</span>
<br/>
<span>His swaddled limbs unwrapped</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">she nourished him,</span>
<br/>
<span>Then, dandling him a moment</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">fell asleep.</span>
<br/>
<span>In dreams she saw</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">her little son,</span>
<br/>
<span>Her Johnny, grown to man,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">handsome and rich.</span>
<br/>
<span>No lonely bachelor</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">but a married man</span>
<br/>
<span>In freedom it seemed,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">no longer the landlords</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">but his own man.</span>
<br/>
<span>And in their own joyous field</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">his wife and he</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">reaped their own wheat,</span>
<br/>
<span>Their children brought their food.</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">The poor thing</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">laughed in her sleep,</span>
<br/>
<span>Woke up</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">a dream indeed it was.</span>
<br/>
<span>She looked at Johnny,</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">picked him up and swaddled him,</span>
<br/>
<span>And back to her allotted task;</span>
<br/>
<span>Sixty stooks her stint.</span>
<br/>
<span>Perhaps the last of the sixty it was:</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">God grant it.</span>
<br/>
<span>And God grant</span>
<br/>
<span class="i2">this dream of thine</span>
<br/>
<span class="i4">may be fulfilled.</span>
</p>
</article>
<article id="winter" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<h2 epub:type="title">Winter<a href="#note-19" id="noteref-19" epub:type="noteref">19</a></h2>
<p>
<span>Thy youth is over; time has brought</span>
<br/>
<span>Winter upon thee; hope is grown</span>
<br/>
<span>Chill as the north wind; thou art old.</span>
<br/>
<span>Sit thou in thy dark house alone;</span>
<br/>
<span>With no man converse shalt thou hold,</span>
<br/>
<span>With no man shalt take counsel; nought.</span>
<br/>
<span>Nought art thou, nought be thy desire.</span>
<br/>
<span>Sit still alone by thy dead fire</span>
<br/>
<span>Till hope shall mock thee, fool, again,</span>
<br/>
<span>Blinding thine eyes with frosty gleams,</span>
<br/>
<span>Vexing thy soul with dreams, with dreams</span>
<br/>
<span>Like snowflakes in the empty plain.</span>
<br/>
<span>Sit thou alone, alone and dumb;</span>
<br/>
<span>Cry not for Spring, it will not come.</span>
<br/>
<span>It will not enter at thy door,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor make thy garden green once more,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor cheer with hope thy withered age,</span>
<br/>
<span>Nor loose thy spirit from her cage</span>
<br/>
<span>Sit still, sit still! Thy life is spent;</span>
<br/>
<span>Nought art thou, be with nought content.</span>
</p>
</article>
<section id="endnotes" epub:type="endnotes backmatter">
<h2 epub:type="title">Endnotes</h2>
<ol>
<li id="note-1" epub:type="endnote">
<p><dfn lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Tchornobriva</dfn>: black-browed girl. <a href="#noteref-1" epub:type="backlink"></a></p>
</li>
<li id="note-2" epub:type="endnote">
<p><dfn lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Rushniky</dfn>: long towels prepared by a mother for her daughters dowry: in case of death used to lower the coffin. <a href="#noteref-2" epub:type="backlink"></a></p>
</li>
<li id="note-3" epub:type="endnote">
<p><dfn lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Ptashka</dfn>: little bird. <a href="#noteref-3" epub:type="backlink"></a></p>
</li>
<li id="note-4" epub:type="endnote">
<p>“Hamaleia” is an historical romance. The poet represents one of the excursions of the Zaporozhian Cossacks under the leadership of Hamaleia on Skutari, the Turkish city on the Bosphorus. The Cossacks saved western Europe from the Tartar and Turkish invasions, by fighting the invaders in the land of the barbarian. The poem describes one of these excursions where the Cossacks animated by the desire of revenging themselves on the Turks and freeing their brothers who were lying as captives in Turkish prisons, undertake a perilous trip in small wooden boats over the stormy Black Sea to Skutari, open the prisons, burn the city, and return home with rich spoils and their freed brethren. <cite>Hunter</cite> <a href="#noteref-4" epub:type="backlink"></a></p>
</li>
<li id="note-5" epub:type="endnote">
<p>When a girl becomes engaged she binds on the head of her lover a handkerchief embroidered in gay colours by her own hands. <a href="#noteref-5" epub:type="backlink"></a></p>
</li>
<li id="note-6" epub:type="endnote">
<p><dfn>Unplaiting the hair</dfn>: custom of a bride-to-be. <a href="#noteref-6" epub:type="backlink"></a></p>
</li>
<li id="note-7" epub:type="endnote">
<p><dfn lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Tchumaki</dfn>: road merchants, traders in other lands. <a href="#noteref-7" epub:type="backlink"></a></p>
</li>
<li id="note-8" epub:type="endnote">
<p>To Jacques de Balmont—French friend of the Ukrainians who perished in the Circassian war.</p>
<p>The Czars used the Ukrainians as tools in their ambitious projects. A hundred thousand of them perished in the marshes, digging the foundations of Petrograd. As many more died in the attempt to subdue the Circassians—tribes inhabiting the Caucasus mountains—to the imperial will of the Russian autocrat.</p>
<p>The memory of these sufferings was the inspiration of this bitter poem.</p>
<p>The text is taken from the prophecy of Jeremiah 9:1.</p>
<p>“Oh, that my head were waters, and mine eyes a fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night for the slain of the daughter of my people.” <cite>Hunter</cite> <a href="#noteref-8" epub:type="backlink"></a></p>
</li>
<li id="note-9" epub:type="endnote">
<p>This is the national poem of the Ukrainians, recited at all their gatherings. I have given the thought and something of the feeling. The music of the original I could not give. It begins like a Highland dirge with wailing amphibrachs, and there are other measures in it not used in our language. Perhaps some future student may be moved to put this poem in such English form as will give the true impression of the original.</p>
<p>The motive of the poem is, in part, to awaken the conscience of the young educated Ukrainians who, for the sake of gain were allowing themselves to be used as tools by foreign oppressors. <cite>Hunter</cite> <a href="#noteref-9" epub:type="backlink"></a></p>
</li>
<li id="note-10" epub:type="endnote">
<p>Written shortly before his arrest. <a href="#noteref-10" epub:type="backlink"></a></p>
</li>
<li id="note-11" epub:type="endnote">
<p>Shevchenko had heard a story of nuns in a convent conveying messages to one another interspersed in the words of the religious service. The messages were to the effect that company was coming that night and there would be music and dancing. Hence this sardonically humorous poem. <cite>Hunter</cite> <a href="#noteref-11" epub:type="backlink"></a></p>
</li>
<li id="note-12" epub:type="endnote">
<p>Written the first year in the disciplinary brigade. <a href="#noteref-12" epub:type="backlink"></a></p>
</li>
<li id="note-13" epub:type="endnote">
<p>Written in the disciplinary brigade, first or second year. <a href="#noteref-13" epub:type="backlink"></a></p>
</li>
<li id="note-14" epub:type="endnote">
<p>Change of metre as in original. <a href="#noteref-14" epub:type="backlink"></a></p>
</li>
<li id="note-15" epub:type="endnote">
<p>So far as is known, the last thing written in the disciplinary brigade third year. There are no verses and few letters for the next seven years. <a href="#noteref-15" epub:type="backlink"></a></p>
</li>
<li id="note-16" epub:type="endnote">
<p>This poem was written in 1847 in Siberia. Taken away suddenly from Ukraine, Shevchenko could not forget his mother land. His beloved Ukraine was very far from him, and he longed for her even in his dreams. He describes in the poem a dream which he had about the beauties of the Ukraine, which he had just left and which he never hoped to see again. The old man of whom he speaks represents the poet himself, who knew the miseries of his native land and who desired to spend the last hours of his life there. <cite>Hunter</cite> <a href="#noteref-16" epub:type="backlink"></a></p>
</li>
<li id="note-17" epub:type="endnote">
<p>“The Dream Herb” (a species of anemone) is in the Ukraine considered as something weird and uncanny. It is called <i lang="uk-Latn" xml:lang="uk-Latn">Son-travà</i>, literally Dream-grass, and has a flower like a little bell. Maidens pluck it to place under their pillows in early spring, that they may dream of their lovers. But by the rest of the world it is regarded with awe and superstitious fears. <cite>Livesay</cite> <a href="#noteref-17" epub:type="backlink"></a></p>
</li>
<li id="note-18" epub:type="endnote">
<p>It happened sometimes, when a cossack warrior found his energies failing and his joints growing stiff from much campaigning, he would bethink him of his sins and deeds of blood.</p>
<p>These things weighing on his mind, he would decide to spend the remainder of his life in a monastery, but before taking this irrevocable step, he would hold a time of high revel with his old comrades. This poem pictures such an event. <cite>Hunter</cite> <a href="#noteref-18" epub:type="backlink"></a></p>
</li>
<li id="note-19" epub:type="endnote">
<p>Written in exile in Russia about a month before his death. <a href="#noteref-19" epub:type="backlink"></a></p>
</li>
</ol>
</section>
<section id="colophon" epub:type="colophon backmatter">
<header>
<h2 epub:type="title">Colophon</h2>
<img alt="The Standard Ebooks logo." 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epub:type="z3998:publisher-logo se:image.color-depth.black-on-transparent"/>
</header>
<p><i epub:type="se:name.publication.book">Poetry</i><br/>
was compiled from poems published between <time>1838</time> and <time>1860</time> by<br/>
<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taras_Shevchenko">Taras Shevchenko</a>.<br/>
They were translated from Ukrainian between <time>1911</time> and <time>1922</time> by<br/>
<b epub:type="z3998:personal-name">Alexander Jardine Hunter</b>, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ethel_Voynich">Ethel Voynich</a>, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_Selver">Paul Selver</a>, and <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Florence_Randal_Livesay">Florence Randal Livesay</a>.</p>
<p>This ebook was produced for<br/>
<a href="https://standardebooks.org/">Standard Ebooks</a><br/>
by<br/>
<a href="https://weijiarhymeswith.asia/">Weijia Cheng</a>,<br/>
and is based on transcriptions from<br/>
<a href="https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/taras-shevchenko/poetry/various-translators#transcriptions">various sources</a><br/>
and on digital scans from<br/>
<a href="https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/taras-shevchenko/poetry/various-translators#page-scans">various sources</a>.</p>
<p>The cover page is adapted from<br/>
<i epub:type="se:name.visual-art.painting">Portait of <abbr epub:type="z3998:given-name">T. G.</abbr> Shevchenko</i>,<br/>
a painting completed in <time>1888</time> by<br/>
<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ilya_Repin">Ilya Repin</a>.<br/>
The cover and title pages feature the<br/>
<b epub:type="se:name.visual-art.typeface">League Spartan</b> and <b epub:type="se:name.visual-art.typeface">Sorts Mill Goudy</b><br/>
typefaces created in <time>2014</time> and <time>2009</time> by<br/>
<a href="https://www.theleagueofmoveabletype.com/">The League of Moveable Type</a>.</p>
<p>The first edition of this ebook was released on<br/>
<time datetime="2022-08-13T18:12:00Z">August 13, 2022, 6:12 <abbr class="eoc">p.m.</abbr></time><br/>
You can check for updates to this ebook, view its revision history, or download it for different ereading systems at<br/>
<a href="https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/taras-shevchenko/poetry/various-translators">standardebooks.org/ebooks/taras-shevchenko/poetry/various-translators</a>.</p>
<p>The volunteer-driven Standard Ebooks project relies on readers like you to submit typos, corrections, and other improvements. Anyone can contribute at <a href="https://standardebooks.org/">standardebooks.org</a>.</p>
</section>
<section id="uncopyright" epub:type="copyright-page backmatter">
<h2 epub:type="title">Uncopyright</h2>
<blockquote epub:type="z3998:verse">
<p>
<span>May you do good and not evil.</span>
<br/>
<span>May you find forgiveness for yourself and forgive others.</span>
<br/>
<span>May you share freely, never taking more than you give.</span>
</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Copyright pages exist to tell you that you <em>cant</em> do something. Unlike them, this Uncopyright page exists to tell you that the writing and artwork in this ebook are believed to be in the United States public domain; that is, they are believed to be free of copyright restrictions in the United States. The United States public domain represents our collective cultural heritage, and items in it are free for anyone in the United States to do almost anything at all with, without having to get permission.</p>
<p>Copyright laws are different all over the world, and the source text or artwork in this ebook may still be copyrighted in other countries. If youre not located in the United States, you must check your local laws before using this ebook. Standard Ebooks makes no representations regarding the copyright status of the source text or artwork in this ebook in any country other than the United States.</p>
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