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+
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #68486 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68486)
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-The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Kobzar of the Ukraine, by Taras
-Shevchenko
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
-most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
-of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
-will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
-using this eBook.
-
-Title: The Kobzar of the Ukraine
-       Being Select Poems of Taras Shevchenko
-
-Author: Taras Shevchenko
-
-Translator: Alexander Jardine Hunter
-
-Release Date: July 9, 2022 [eBook #68486]
-
-Language: English
-
-Produced by: Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed Proofreading
-             Team at https://www.pgdp.net/ for Project Gutenberg (This
-             file was produced from images generously made available by
-             The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
-
-*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE KOBZAR OF THE
-UKRAINE ***
-
-
-
-
-
-                       THE KOBZAR OF THE UKRAINE
-
-                         Being Select Poems of
-                            TARAS SHEVCHENKO
-
-
-         Done into English Verse with Biographical Fragments by
-                        ALEXANDER JARDINE HUNTER
-
-
-
-                          Printed in Winnipeg.
-
-                     Published by Dr. A. J. Hunter,
-                              Teulon, Man.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-CONTENTS
-
-
-                                          Page
-
-Introduction                                 9
-
-
-POEMS.
-
-    BALLADS:
-
-    The Monk                                13
-    Hamaleia                                21
-    The Night of Taras                      30
-
-    TALE:
-
-    Naimechka; or The Servant               39
-
-    SOCIAL AND POLITICAL POETRY:
-
-    Caucasus                                68
-    To the Dead                             81
-    A Dream                                 96
-    The Bondwoman’s Dream                  106
-    To the Makers of Sentimental Idyls     109
-
-    POEMS OF EXILE:
-
-    A Poem of Exile                        114
-    Memories of Freedom                    120
-    Memories of an Exile                   123
-    Death of the Soul                      124
-    Hymn of Exile                          126
-
-    RELIGIOUS POEMS:
-
-    On the 11th Psalm                      130
-    Prayers                                132
-
-    EARLY POEMS:
-
-    Mighty Wind                            136
-    The Water Fairy                        138
-
-    HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL:
-
-    Hymn of the Nuns                       140
-    To the Goddess of Fame                 141
-
-    PREDICTION AND FAREWELL:
-
-    Iconoclasm                             143
-    My Testament                           144
-
-
-BIOGRAPHICAL FRAGMENTS.
-
-    Who Was Taras Shevchenko                11
-    The Cossacks                            19
-    Kobzars                                 29
-    The Forming of a Life                   36
-    A Father’s Legacy                       67
-    The Meaning of Serfdom                  79
-    Freedom and Friends                     94
-    A Triumphal March                      103
-    Autocrat Versus Poet                   112
-    Siberian Exile                         118
-    Returning Home                         127
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-ILLUSTRATIONS
-
-
-The decorations and illustrations in this book are meant to show
-something of Ukrainian art.
-
-The artistic instincts of the peasant women find satisfaction largely
-in the working of embroidery, each district having its own
-characteristic types of design.
-
-One of Shevchenko’s favorite fancies was to compare his versification
-to the work of the girls and women embroidering their designs on their
-garments. He frequently speaks of himself as “embroidering verses.”
-
-It is a favorite device of Ukrainian book-makers to decorate their
-pages with miniature landscapes and little figures.
-
-The frontispiece of the present work is a picture of Shevchenko in
-youth from an original painted by himself. On page 129 we see him as he
-looked after his return from exile.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-LIFE
-
-
-Born 1811, February 26.
-
-    24 years a serf,
-    9 years a freeman,
-    10 years a prisoner in Siberia,
-    3 1–2 years under police supervision.
-
-Died 1861, February 26.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-INTRODUCTION.
-
-
-Nearly twenty years ago the translator of these poems was sent by the
-Presbyterian church as a medical missionary to a newly settled district
-in Manitoba. A very large proportion of the incoming settlers in this
-district were Ukrainians, indeed it was largely owing to the interest
-taken in these newcomers that the writer was sent there.
-
-It was Mr. John Bodrug who first, introduced him to the study of the
-poems of Shevchenko and with his help translations of three or four of
-the poems were made a dozen years ago. Press of other work prevented
-the following up of this study till last summer when with the help of
-Mr. Sigmund Bychinsky translations were made of the other poems here
-given, and considerable time spent in arriving at an understanding of
-the spirit of the poems and the nature of the situations described.
-Then the more formidable task was approached of trying to carry over
-not only the thought but something  of the style, spirit and music of
-the original into the English tongue.
-
-The spirit of Shevchenko was too independent to suffer him to be much
-bound by narrow rules of metre and rhyme. The translator has found the
-same attitude convenient, for when the versification may be varied as
-desired it is much easier to preserve the original thoughts intact.
-
-The writer’s thanks are due for help and advice to Messrs. Arsenych,
-Woicenko, Rudachek, Ferley, Sluzar and Stechyshyn and especially to
-Mrs. Bychinsky and for help with the manuscript to Miss Sara
-Livingstone.
-
-
-A. J. H.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-WHO WAS TARAS SHEVCHENKO?
-
-
-How many English-speaking people have heard of Taras Shevchenko?
-
-What “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” did for the negroes of the United States of
-America the poems of Shevchenko did for the serfs of Russia. They
-aroused the conscience of the Russian people, and the persecutions
-suffered by the poet at the hands of the autocracy awakened their
-sympathy.
-
-It was two days after the death of Shevchenko that the czar’s ukase
-appeared granting freedom to the serfs. Possibly the dying poet knew it
-was coming and died the happier on that account.
-
-But in still another way does this man’s figure stand out. In the
-country called the Ukraine is a nation of between thirty and forty
-millions of people, having a language of their own—the language in
-which these poems were composed.
-
-This has been, as it were, a nation lost, buried alive one might say,
-beneath the power of surrounding empires.
-
-They have a terrible history of oppression, alternating with desperate
-revolts against Polish and Muscovite tyranny.
-
-In these poems speaks the struggling soul of a downtrodden people. To
-our western folk, reared in happier surroundings there is a bitter tang
-about some of them, somewhat like the taste of olives, to which one
-must grow accustomed. The Slavonic temperament, too, is given to
-melancholy and seems to dwell congenially in an atmosphere misty with
-tears. But he gravely misreads their literature who fails to perceive
-the grim resolve beneath the sorrow.
-
-In the struggle of the Ukrainians for freedom the spirit of this poet,
-who was born a serf, remains ever their guiding star.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-THE MONK
-
-
-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.
-
-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.
-
-
-    At Kiev, in the low countrie,
-    Things happened once that you’ll never see.
-    For evermore, ’twas done;
-    Nevermore, ’twill come.
-    Yet I, my brother,
-    Will with hope foregather,
-    That this again I’ll see,
-    Though grief it brings to me.
-
-    To Kiev in the low countrie
-    Came our brotherhood so free.
-    Nor slave nor lord have they,
-    But all in noble garb so gay
-    Came splashing forth in mood full glad
-    With velvet coats the streets are clad.
-    They swagger in silken garments pride
-    And they for no one turn aside.
-
-    In Kiev, in the low countrie,
-    All the cossacks dance in glee,
-    Just like water in pails and tubs
-    Wine pours out ’mid great hubbubs.
-    Wine cellars and bars
-            with all the barmaids
-    The cossacks have bought
-            with their wines and meads.
-    With their heels they stamp
-        And dancing tramp,
-    While the music roars
-        And joyously soars.
-
-    The people gaze
-            with gladsome eyes,
-    While scholars of the cloister schools
-    All in silence bred by rules,
-    Look on with wondering surprise.
-    Unhappy scholars! Were they free,
-    They would cossacks dancing be.
-    Who is this by musicians surrounded
-    To whom the people give fame unbounded?
-    In trousers of velvet red,
-    With a coat that sweeps the road
-    A cossack comes. Let’s weep o’er his years
-    For what they’ve done is cause for tears.
-    But there’s life in the old man yet I trust,
-    For with dancing kicks
-            he spurns the dust.
-    In his short time left with men to mingle
-    The cossack sings,
-            this tipsy jingle.
-
-        “On the road is a crab, crab, crab.
-        Let us catch it grab, grab, grab.
-        Girls are sewing jab, jab, jab.
-        Let’s dance on trouble,
-        Dance on it double
-        Then on we’ll bubble
-        Already this trouble
-        We’ve danced on double
-        So let’s dance on trouble.
-        Dance on it double,
-        Then on we’ll bubble.”
-
-    To the Cloister of our Saviour
-    Old gray-hair dancing goes.
-    After him his joyous crowd
-    And all the folk of Kiev so proud.
-    Dances he up to the doors—
-    “Hoo-hoo! Hoo-hoo!” he roars.
-    Ye holy monks give greeting
-    A comrade from the prairie meeting.
-
-        Opens the sacred door,
-        The Cossack enters in.
-        Again the portal closes
-        To open no more for him.
-        What a man was there
-                this old gray-hair,
-        Who said to the world farewell?
-        ’Twas Semon Palee,
-                a cossack free
-        Whom trouble could not quell.
-
-    Oh in the East the sun climbs high
-    And sets again in the western sky.
-    In narrow cell in monkish gown
-    Tramps an old man up and down,
-    Then climbs the highest turret there
-    To feast his eyes on Kiev so fair.
-    And sitting on the parapet
-    He yields a while to fond regret.
-    Anon he goes to the woodland spring,
-    The belfry near, where sweet bells ring.
-    The cooling draught to his mind recalls
-    How hard was life without the walls.
-    Again the monk his cell floor paces
-    ’Mid the silent walls his life retraces.
-    The sacred book he holds in hand
-    And loudly reads,
-    The old man’s mind to Cossack land
-    Swiftly speeds.
-    Now holy words do fade away,
-    The monkish cell turns Cossack den,
-    The glorious brotherhood lives again.
-    The gray old captain, like an owl
-    Peers beneath the monkish cowl.
-    Music, dances, the city’s calls,
-    Rattling fetters, Moscow’s walls,
-    O’er woods and snows
-            his eyes can see
-    The banks of distant Yenisee.
-    Upon his soul deep gloom has crept
-    And thus the monk in sadness wept.
-
-        Down, Down! Bow thy head;
-        On thy fleshly cravings tread.
-        In the sacred writings read
-        Read, read, to the bell give heed,
-        Thy heart too long has ruled thee,
-        All thy life it’s fooled thee.
-        Thy heart to exile led thee,
-        Now let it silent be.
-        As all things pass away,
-        So thou shalt pass away.
-        Thus may’st thou know thy lot,
-        Mankind remembers not.
-
-    Though groans the old man’s sadness tell.
-    Upon his book he quickly fell,
-    And tramped and tramped about his cell.
-    He sits again in mood forlorn
-    Wonders why he e’er was born.
-    One thing alone he fain would tell.
-    He loves his Ukraina well.
-            For Matins now
-                  the great bell booms.
-            The aged monk
-                  his cowl resumes.
-            For Ukraina now to pray
-            My good old Palee limps away.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-THE COSSACKS
-
-
-Back somewhere in the middle distance of European history—when the
-Ukraine was under Polish rule, though ever harrassed by the devastating
-raids of Turks and Tartars—there developed bands of guerilla fighters
-in the wild border-land beyond the rapids of the Dnieper.
-
-Sometimes fighting against the Tartars, sometimes in alliance with
-them, they became known by the name ‘Kazak,’ a word of uncertain
-origin.
-
-Fierce banditti they were, many of them serfs who had run away from
-their Polish masters. But they often developed great military power. At
-times the Poles succeeded in securing numbers of them as fighters in
-their army, but when the tyranny of the Polish landlords became
-intolerable the so-called “Registered Cossacks” would sometimes join
-with the “Free Cossacks” of the “border land”—which is the meaning of
-the word “Ukraine,” and exact terrible vengeance on the Poles.
-
-The story of these warlike deeds of the Cossacks has the same
-significance to the Ukrainian people that the tales of Wallace and
-Bruce have for Scotchmen.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-HAMALEIA
-
-
-Hamaleia is an historical romance. The poet represents one of the
-excursions of the Zaparoggian 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.
-
-
-      “Oh breeze there is none,
-      Nor do the waters run
-      From our Ukraina’s land.
-      Perhaps, in council there they stand,
-      To march against the Turk demand.
-      We hear not in this foreign land.
-      Blow winds, blow across the sea,
-      Bring tidings of our land so free,
-      Come from Dnieper’s Delta low,
-      Dry our tears and chase away our woe.
-
-      Roar in play thou sea so blue.
-      In yon boats are Cossacks true,
-      Their caps above are dimly seen.
-      Rescue for us this may mean.
-      Once more we’ll hear Ukraina’s story.
-      Once more the ancient Cossack glory
-      We’ll hear before we die.”
-
-    So in Skutari the Cossacks sang,
-    Their tears rolled down, their wailing rang
-    Bosphorus groaned at the Cossack cry.
-    And then he raised his waves on high.
-    And shivering like a great grey bull,
-    His waters roaring far and full
-    Into the Black Sea’s ribs were hurled.
-    The sea sent on great Bosphorus’ cry,
-    To where the sands of the Delta lie,
-    And then the waters of Dnieper pale
-    In turn took up the mournful tale.
-
-    The father Dnieper rears his crest,
-    Shakes the foam from off his breast.
-    With laughter now aloud he calls
-    To spirits of the forest walls.
-    “Hortessa sister river, deep,
-    Time it is to wake from sleep.
-    Brother forest, sister river,
-    Come our children to deliver.”
-    And now the Dnieper is clad with boats,
-    The Cossack song o’er the water floats.
-
-          “In Turkey over there,
-          Are wealth and riches rare.
-          Hey, hey, blue sea play.
-          Then roar upon the shore,
-          Bringing with you guests so gay.
-
-          “This Turkey has in her pockets
-          Dollars and ducats.
-          We don’t come pockets to pick,
-          Fire and sword will do the trick.
-          We mean to free our brothers.
-
-          “There the janissary crouches,
-          There are pashas on soft couches.
-          Hey-ho, foemen ware,
-          For nothing do we care,
-          Ours are liberty and glory.”
-
-        On they sail a-singing
-        The sea to the wind gives heed,
-        In foremost boat the helm a-guiding,
-        Brave Hamaleia takes the lead.
-
-        “Oh, Hamaleia, our hearts are fainting,
-        Behold the sea in madness raving.”
-        “Don’t fear,” he says, “these spurting fountains,
-        We’ll hide behind the water mountains.”
-
-    All slumber in the harem,
-    Byzantium’s paradise.
-    Skutari sleeps, but Bosphorus
-    In madness shouts, “Arise!
-    Awake Byzantium!” it roars and groans.
-    “Awake them not, Oh Bosphorus.”
-    Replies the sea in thunder tones.
-    “If thou dost I’ll fill thy ribs with sand,
-    Bury thee in mud, change thee to solid land.
-    Perhaps thou knowest not the guest
-    I bring to break the sultan’s rest.”
-
-    So the sea insisted,
-    For he loved the brave Slavonic band;
-    And Bosphorus desisted,
-    While in slumber lay the Turkish land.
-    The lazy Sultan in his harem slept,
-    But only in Skutari the weary pris’ners wept.
-    For something are they waiting,
-    To God from dungeon praying,
-    While the waves go roaring by.
-
-    “Oh, loved God of Ukraine’s land,
-    To us in prison stretch thy hand;
-    Slaves are we a Cossack band.
-    Shame it is now in truth to say,
-    Shame it will be at judgment day
-    For us from foreign tomb to rise,
-    And at thy court, to the world’s surprise
-    Show Cossack hands in chains.”
-                  “Strike and kill,
-    Now the infidels will get their fill
-    Death to the unbelievers all.”
-    How they scream beyond the wall!
-
-    They’ve heard of Hamaleia’s fame,
-    Skutari maddens at his name.
-
-    “Strike on,” he shouts, “kill and slay
-    To the castle break your way.”
-    All the guns of Skutari roar
-    The foes in frenzy onward pour,
-    The cossacks rush with panting breath
-    The janissaries fall in death.
-
-        Hamaleia in Skutari
-        Dances through the flames in glee.
-        To the jail his way he makes,
-        Through the prison doors he breaks.
-        Off the feet the fetters takes.
-
-        “Fly away my birds so gray,
-        In the town to share the prey.”
-        But the falcons trembled
-        Nor their fears dessembled
-        So long they had not heard
-        A single christian word.
-
-        Night herself was frightened.
-        No flames her darkness lightened.
-        The old mother could not see
-        How the Cossacks pay their fee.
-
-        “Fear not! Look ahead,
-        To the Cossack banquet spread.
-        Dark over all, like a common day,
-        And this no little holiday.”
-
-        “No sneak thieves with Hamaleia,
-        To eat their bacon silently
-        Without a frying pan.”
-
-        “Let’s have a light,”
-        Now burning bright
-        To heaven flames Skutari,
-        With all its ruined navy.
-
-    Byzantium awakes, its eyes it opens wide
-    With grinding teeth hastes to its
-            comrade’s side,
-    Byzantium roars and rages,
-    With hands to the shore it reaches,
-    From waters gasping strives to rise,
-    And then with sword in heart it dies.
-
-    With fires of hell Skutari’s burning,
-    Bazaars with streams of blood are churning
-    Broad Bosphorus pours in its waves.
-    Like blackbirds in a bush
-    The Cossacks fiercely rush.
-    No living soul escapes.
-    Untouched by fire,
-    They the walls down tear,
-    Silver and gold in their caps they bear,
-    And load their boats with riches rare.
-
-    Burns Skutari, ends the fray,
-    The warriors gather and come away,
-    Their pipes with burning cinders light,
-    And row their boats through waves flame
-            bright.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-KOBZARS
-
-
-These are the wandering minstrels of the Ukraine.
-
-They play on an instrument called the Kobza which somewhat resembles a
-mandolin. Often in former days they were old prisoners of war—too old
-to work—so their Turkish captors first blinded them and then set them
-at liberty.
-
-Wandering among the villages, guided by some little boy, they earned
-their bread by singing folk-songs and hero-tales to the accompaniment
-of the Kobza.
-
-Shevchenko published his book of poems with the title “Kobzar.”
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-THE NIGHT OF TARAS
-
-
-    By the road the Kobzar sat
-    And on his kobza played.
-    Around him youths and maidens
-    Like poppy flowers arrayed.
-
-    So the Kobzar played and sang
-    Of many an old old story;
-    Of wars with Russian, Pole and Tartar
-    And the ancient Cossack glory.
-
-    He sang of the wars of Taras brave,
-    Of battle fought in the morning early,
-    Of the fallen Cossack’s grass-grown grave
-    Till smiles and tears did mingle fairly.
-
-    “Once on a time the Hetmans ruled,
-        It comes not back again;
-    In olden days we masters were
-        This never comes again.
-    These glories of old Cossack lore
-    Shall be forgotten nevermore.
-
-        Ukraine, Ukraine!
-        Mother mine. Mother mine!
-        When I remember thee
-        How mournful should I be.
-
-    What has come of our Cossacks bold
-        With coats of velvet red?
-    What of freedom by fate foretold,
-        And banners the Hetmans led?
-
-        Whither is it gone?
-        In flames it went:
-    O’er hills and tombs,
-        The floods were sent.
-    The hills are wrapt
-          in silence grim,
-    On boundless sea
-          waves ever play;
-    The tombs gleam forth
-          with sadness dim;
-    O’er all the land
-          the foe holds sway.
-
-    Play on, oh sea,
-        Hills silent be:
-    Dance, mighty wind,
-        O’er all the land.
-    Weep, Cossack youth,
-        Your fate withstand.
-
-    Now who shall our adviser be?
-    Then out spake Naleweiko,
-    A Cossack bold was he,
-    After him Paulioha
-    Like falcon swift did flee.
-
-    Out spake Taras Traselo
-    With bitter words and true,
-    “That they trampled on Ukraina
-    For sure the Poles shall rue.”
-    Out spake Taras Traselo,
-    Out spake the eagle grey.
-    Rescue for the faith he wrought,
-    Well indeed the Poles he taught.
-    “Let’s make an end of our woe.
-    An end come now to your woe,
-    Arise, my gentle comrades, all
-    Upon the Poles with blows we’ll fall.”
-
-    Three days of war
-            did the land deliver.
-    From the Delta’s shore
-            to Trubail’s river.
-    The fields are covered
-            with dead, in course,
-    But weary now
-            is the Cossack force.
-
-    Now the dirty Polish ruler
-    Was feeling very jolly,
-    Gathered all his lords together,
-    For a time of feast and folly.
-    Taras did his Cossacks gather
-    To have a little talk together.
-
-        “Captains and comrades,
-    My children and brothers,
-    What are we now to do?
-    Our hated foes are feasting,
-    I want advice from you.”
-
-    “Let them feast away,
-        It’s fine for their health.
-
-    When the sun descends,
-    Old night her counsel lends;
-    The Cossacks’ll catch them,
-          and all of their wealth.”
-
-    The sun reclined beyond the hill
-    The stars shone out in silence still,
-    Around the Poles the Cossack host
-    Was gathering like a cloud;
-    So soon the moon stood in the sky
-    When roared the cannon loud.
-
-    Woke up the Polish lordlings,
-    To run they found no place.
-    Woke up the Polish lordlings,
-    The foe they could not face.
-    The sun beheld the Polish lordlings,
-    In heaps all o’er the place.
-    With red serpent on the water,
-    River Alta brings the word—
-    That black vultures after slaughter
-    May feast on many a Polish lord.
-
-    And now the vultures hasten
-    The mighty dead to waken.
-    Together the Cossacks gather
-    Praise to God to offer.
-
-    While black vultures scream,
-    O’er the corpses fight.
-    Then the Cossacks sing
-    A hymn to the night;
-    That night of famous story
-    Full of blood and glory.
-    That night that put the Poles to sleep
-    The while on them their foes did creep.
-
-    Beyond the stream
-            in open field
-    A burial mound
-            gleams darkly:
-    Where the Cossack blood was shed
-    There grows the grass full greenly.
-
-    On the tomb a raven sits:
-    With hunger sore he’s screaming.
-    Waiting near a Cossack weeps:
-    Of days of old he’s dreaming.”
-
-    The Kobzar ceased in sadness
-    His hands would no longer play:
-    Around him youths and maidens
-    Were wiping the tears away.
-    By the path the Kobzar makes his way,
-    To get rid of his grief he starts to play.
-    And now the youngsters are dancing gay,
-    And then he opes his lips to say:
-
-    “Skip off, my children,
-    To some nice warm corner,
-    Of griefs enough;
-    I’ll no longer be mourner.
-
-    To the bar I’ll go
-            and find my good wife
-    And there we’ll have
-            the time of our life.
-    For so we’ll drink away our woes
-    And make no end of fun of our foes.”
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-THE FORMING OF A LIFE
-
-
-The little Taras was born a serf. His first memories are of a mother’s
-love, of the kindness of an elder sister, and like a musical undertone
-to all his life—the consciousness of the wonderful beauty of Nature.
-
-But soon another power of hideous aspect laid its grasp on the childish
-soul. It was the knowledge of slavery, a grim and horrible thing that
-was slowly but surely grinding out the lives of his parents, and that
-would surely, later, reach out for his own.
-
-Yet even the system of serfdom may allow a little happiness to a child,
-still too young to work.
-
-The little boy had been told that beyond the distant hills were iron
-pillars holding up the sky. At five years of age he set out to find
-these pillars. Some teamsters found him wandering on the steppe and
-brought him back to his home. But this incident marked the character of
-the boy as an idealist and a dreamer.
-
-Then there was Grandfather John, the brave old man who, half a century
-before, had fought in the ranks of the Haidemaki who so nearly broke
-the Polish power. On a Sunday the wondering family would listen to the
-mighty voice ringing out in the little home—telling of ancient battles
-for freedom.
-
-When Taras was seven years of age he lost his mother. His father was
-left with six children, and thought to improve matters by marrying a
-widow with three. Thereafter the miseries increased for little Taras
-who was hated by his stepmother.
-
-The father lived a few years longer, and to him Taras owed the
-knowledge of reading, for though they were serfs and lived in a
-wretched hovel, the Shevchenko’s prided themselves on having retained
-some elements of culture.
-
-Our little hero, however, had a strange passion for drawing and
-painting and also for singing, and found some employment among the
-drunken painters, and church-singers of the village.
-
-Later his master tried to make him work, but found the lad hopeless for
-anything but his beloved painting. Finally, he reached Petrograd in the
-suite of his master’s son, where he was apprenticed to a decorator.
-
-A famous man came upon a ragged boy sitting on a pail, in the Royal
-Gardens, in the moonlight, drawing a picture of a statue there. This
-was the beginning of a period of good fortune. The lad was introduced
-to some of the great men of the capital. His genius was recognized. A
-famous painter painted a picture that was raffled off for sufficient
-money to purchase the boy’s freedom, and he was entered as a student in
-the Academy.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-NAIMECHKA OR THE SERVANT
-
-
-    Prologue.
-
-    On a Sunday, very early,
-    When fields were clad with mist
-    A woman’s form was bending
-    ’Mid graves by cloud wreaths kissed.
-    Something to her heart she pressed,
-    In accents low the clouds addressed.
-
-    “Oh, you mist and raindrops fine,
-    Pity this ragged luck of mine.
-    Hide me here in grassy meadows,
-    Bury me beneath thy shadows.
-    Why must I ’mid sorrows stray?
-    Pray take them with my life away.
-    In gloomy death would be relief,
-    Where none might know or see my grief.
-    Yet not alone my life was spent,
-    A father and mother my sin lament.
-    Nor yet alone is my course to run
-    For in my arms is my little son.
-    Shall I, then, give to him christian name,
-    To poverty bind, with his mother’s shame?
-    This, brother mist, I shall not do.
-    I alone my fault must rue.
-    Thee, sweet son, shall strangers christen,
-    Thy mother’s eyes with teardrops glisten.
-    Thy very name I may not know
-    As on through life I lonely go.
-    I, by my sin, rich fortune lost,
-    With thee, my son, to ill fate, was tossed.
-    Yet curse me not,
-            for evils past.
-    My prayers to heaven
-            shall reach at last.
-    The skies above
-            to my tears shall bend,
-    Another fortune to thee I’ll send.”
-    Through the fields she sobbing went.
-    The gentle mist
-            its shelter lent.
-    Her tears were falling
-            the path along,
-    As she softly sang
-            the widows song:
-
-    “Oh, in the field there is a grave
-    Where the shining grasses wave;
-    There the widow walked apart,
-    Bitter sorrow in her heart.
-    Poison herbs in vain she sought,
-    Whereby evil spells are wrought.
-    Two little sons
-            in arms she bore
-    Wrapped around in
-            dress she wore;
-    Her children to the river carried,
-    In converse with the water tarried;
-    ‘Oh, river Dunai, gentle river,
-    I my sons to thee deliver,
-    Thou’lt swaddle them
-            and wrap them,
-    Thy little waves
-            will lap them,
-    Thy yellow sands
-            will cherish them,
-    Thy flowing waters
-            nourish them.’
-
-
-
-    I.
-
-    All by themselves lived
-                an old couple fond
-    In a nice little grove
-            just by a millpond.
-    Like birds of a feather
-    Just always together,
-    From childhood the two of them
-            fed sheep together,
-    Got married, got wealthy,
-            got houses and lands,
-    Got a beautiful garden
-            just where the mill stands,
-    An apiary full
-            of beehives like boulders.
-    Yet no children were theirs,
-            and death at their shoulders.
-    Who will cheer their passing years?
-    Who will soothe their mortal fears?
-    Who will guard their gathered treasure.
-    In loyal service find his pleasure?
-    Who will be their faithful son
-    When low their sands of life do run?
-
-    Hard it is a child to rear,
-    In roofless house ’mid want and fear.
-    Yet just as hard ’mid gathered wealth,
-    When death creeps on with crafty stealth,
-    And one’s treasures good
-          At end of life’s wandering,
-    Are for strangers rude
-          For mocking and squandering.
-
-
-
-    II.
-
-    One fine Sunday,
-            in the bright sunlight,
-    All dressed up
-            in blouses white,
-    The old folks sat
-            on the bench by the door;
-    No cloud in sky,
-            What could they ask more?
-    All peace and love
-            it seemed like Eden.
-    Yet angels above
-            their hearts might read in,
-    A hidden sorrow,
-            a gloomy mood
-    Like lurking beast
-            in darksome wood.
-    In such a heaven
-            Oh, do you see
-    Whatever could
-            the trouble be?
-    I wonder now
-            what ancient sorrow
-    Suddenly sprang
-            into their morrow.
-    Was it quarrel
-            of yesterday
-    Choked off, then
-            revived today,
-    Or yet some newly sprouted ire
-    Arisen to set their heaven on fire?
-
-    Perchance they’re called to go to God,
-    Nor longer dwell on earth’s green sod.
-    Then who for them on that far way
-    Horses and chariot shall array?
-
-    “Anastasia, wife of mine,
-    Soon will come our fatal day,
-    Who will lay our bones away?”
-
-            “God only knows.
-    With me always was that thought
-    Which gloom into my heart has brought.
-    Together in years and failing health,
-    For what have we gathered
-            all this wealth?”
-
-            “Hold a minute,
-    Hearest thou? Something cries
-    Beyond the gate—’tis like a child.
-    Let’s run! See’st ought?
-    I thought something was there.”
-    Together they sprang
-    And to the gate running;
-    Then stopped in silence wondering.
-
-    Before the stile
-                a swaddled child,
-    Not bound tightly,
-                just wrapped lightly,
-    For it was
-                in summer mild,
-    And the mother
-                with fond caress
-    Had covered it
-                with her own last dress.
-    In wondering prayer
-                stood our fond old pair.
-    The little thing
-                just seemed to plead.
-    In little arms
-                stretched out you’ld read
-    Its prayer,—
-                in silence all.
-    No crying—just a little breath its call.
-            “See, ’Stasia!
-    What did I tell thee?
-    Here is fortune and fate for us;
-    No longer dwell we in loneliness.
-    Take it
-                and dress it.
-    Look at it!
-                Bless it!
-    Quick, bear it inside,
-    To the village I’ll ride.
-    Its ours to baptize,
-    God-parents we need for our prize.”
-        In this world
-                    things strangely run.
-        There’s a fellow
-                    that curses his son,
-        Chases him away from home,
-        Into lonely lands to roam,
-    While other poor creatures,
-    With sorrowful features,
-    With sweat of their toiling
-    Must much money earn;
-    The wage of their moiling
-    Candles to burn.
-    Prayers to repeat,
-    The saints to entreat;
-    For children are none.
-    This world is no fun
-    The way things run.
-
-
-
-    III.
-
-    Their joys do now such numbers reach
-    God fathers and mothers
-    ’Mid lots of others
-    Behold they have gathered
-    Three pairs of each.
-    At even they christen him,
-    And Mark is the name of him.
-
-        So Mark grows,
-        And so it goes.
-
-    For the dear old folk it is no joke,
-    For they don’t know where to go,
-    Where to set him, when to pet him.
-    But the year goes and still Mark grows.
-    Yet they care for him, you’d scarce tell how,
-    Just as he were a good milk-cow.
-
-    And now a woman young and bright,
-    With eyebrows dark and skin so white,
-    Comes into this blessed place,
-    For servant’s task she asks with grace.
-
-    “What, what—
-            say we’ll take her ’Stasia.”
-
-    “We’ll take her, Trophimus.
-    We are old and little wearies us;
-    He’s almost grown within a year,
-    But yet he’ll need more care, I fear.”
-
-    “Truly he’ll need care,
-    And now, praise God, I’ve done my share.
-    My knees are failing, so now
-    You poor thing, tell us your wage,
-    It is by the year or how?”
-
-    “What ever you like to give.”
-
-    “No, no, it’s needful to know,
-    It’s needful, my daughter,
-              to count one’s wage.
-    This you must learn, count what you earn.
-    This is the proverb—
-    Who counts not his money
-    Hasn’t got any.
-    But, child, how will this do?
-    You don’t know us,
-              We don’t know you.
-    You’ll stay with us a few days,
-    Get acquainted with our ways;
-    We’ll see you day by day,
-    Bye and bye we’ll talk of pay.
-    Is it so, daughter?”
-
-    “Very good, uncle.”
-
-    “We invite you into the house.”
-
-    And so they to agreement came.
-    The young woman seemed always the same,
-    Cheerful and happy as she’d married a lord
-    Who’d buy up villages just at her word.
-    She in the house and out doth work
-    From morning light to evening’s mirk.
-
-    And yet the child is her special care;
-    Whatever befalls, she’s the mother there.
-    Nor Monday nor Sunday this mother misses
-    To give its bath and its white dresses.
-    She plays and sings, makes wagons and things,
-    And on a holiday, plays with it all the day.
-
-    Wondering, the old folks gaze,
-    But to God they give the praise.
-
-    So the servant never rests,
-    But the night her spirit tests.
-    In her chamber then, I ween,
-    Many a tear she sheds unseen.
-    Yet none knows nor sees it all
-    But the little Mark so small.
-
-    Nor knows he why in hours of night
-    His tossings break her slumbers light.
-    So from her couch she quickly leaps,
-    The coverings o’er his limbs she keeps.
-    With sign of cross the child she blesses,
-    Her gentle care her love confesses.
-
-    Each morning Mark spreads out his hands
-    To the Servant as she stands;
-    Accepts, unknowing, a mother’s care.
-    Only to grow is his affair.
-
-
-
-    IV.
-
-    Meantime many a year has rolled,
-    Many waters to the sea have flowed,
-    Trouble to the home has come,
-    Many a tear down the cheek has run.
-    Poor old ’Stasia in earth they laid.
-    Hardly old Trophim’ from death they saved.
-    The cursed trouble roared so loud,
-    And then it went to sleep, I trow.
-    From the dark woods where she frightened lay
-    Peace came back in the home to stay.
-
-        The little Mark is farmer now.
-        With ox-teams great in the fall must go
-        To far Crimea to barter there
-        Skins for salt and goods more rare.
-
-        The Servant and Trophimus
-                in counsel wise
-        Plans for his marriage
-                now devise.
-
-        Dared she her thoughts utter
-        For the Czar’s daughter
-        She’d send in a trice.
-        But the most she could say
-        While thinking this way
-        Was, “Ask Mark’s advice.”
-
-        “My daughter, we’ll ask him,
-        And then we’ll affiance him.”
-        So they gave him sage advice,
-        And they made decision nice.
-
-    Soon his grave friends about him stand.
-    He sends them to woo, a stately band.
-    Back they come with towels on shoulder
-    Ere the day is many hours older.
-    The sacred bread they have exchanged,
-    The bargain now is all arranged.
-    They’ve found a maiden in noble dress,
-    A princess true, you well may guess.
-    Such a queen is in this affiance
-    As with a general might make alliance.
-    “Hail, and well done,” the old man says,
-    And now let’s have no more delays.
-    When the marriage, where the priest,
-    What about the wedding feast?
-    Who shall take the mother’s place?
-    How we’ll miss my ’Stasia’s face.”
-    The tears along his cheeks do fall,
-    Yet a word does the Servant’s heart appall.
-
-    Hastily rushing from the room,
-    In chamber near she falls in swoon.
-    The house is silent, the light is dim,
-    The sorrowing Servant thinks of him
-    And whispers: “Mother, mother, mother.”
-
-
-
-    V.
-
-    All the week at the wedding cake
-    Young women in crowds both mix and bake.
-    The old man is in wondrous glee,
-    With all the young women dances he.
-    At sweeping the yard
-    He labors hard.
-    All passers-by on foot and horseback
-    He hales to the court where is no lack
-    Of good home-brew.
-    All comers he asks to the marriage
-    And yet ’tis true
-    He runs around so
-    You’d not guess from his carriage
-    Though his joy is such a wonderful gift,
-    His old legs are ’most too heavy to lift.
-
-    Everywhere is disorder and laughter
-    Within the house and in the yard.
-    From store-room keg upon keg follows after,
-    Workers’ voices everywhere heard.
-    They bake, they boil,
-    At sweeping toil,
-    Tables and floors they wash them all.
-
-    And where is the Servant
-            who cares not for wage?
-    To Kiev she is gone
-            on pilgrimage.
-
-    Yes, Anna went. The old man pled,
-    Mark almost wept for her to stay,
-    As mother sit, to see him wed.
-    Her call of duty elsewhere lay.
-
-    “No, Mark, such honor must I not take
-    To sit while you your homage make
-    To parents dear.
-    My mind is clear.
-    A servant must not thy mother be
-    Lest wealthy guests may laugh at thee.
-    Now may God’s mercy with thee stay,
-    To the saints at Kiev I go to pray.
-    But yet again shall I return
-    Unto your house, if you do not spurn
-    My strength and toil.”
-
-    With pure heart
-            she blessed her Mark
-    And weeping, passed
-            beyond the gate.
-
-    Then the wedding blossomed out;
-    Work for musicians and the joyous rout
-    Of dancing feet;
-    While mead so sweet
-    Of fermented honey with spices dashed
-    Over the benches and tables splashed,
-    Meanwhile the Servant limps along
-    Hastening on the weary road to Kiev.
-    To the city come, she does not rest,
-    Hires to a woman of the town;
-    For wages carries water.
-    You see she money, money needs
-    For prayers to Holy Barbara.
-    She water carries, never tarries,
-    And mighty store of pennies saves,
-    Then in the Lavra’s awesome caves
-    She seeks the blessed wealth she craves.
-
-    From St. John she buys a magic cap,
-    For Mark she bears it;
-    And when he wears it,
-    For never a headache need he give e’er a rap.
-    And then St. Barbara gives her a ring,
-    To her new daughter back to bring.
-
-    ’Fore all the saints
-              she makes prostrations,
-    Then home returns
-              having paid her oblations.
-
-    She has come back.
-    Fair Kate with Mark makes haste to meet her,
-    Far beyond the gate they greet her,
-    Then into the house they bring her,
-    Draw her to the table there
-    Quickly spread with choicest fare.
-    Her news of Kiev they now request,
-    While Kate arranges her couch for rest.
-
-            “Why do they love me,
-        Why this respect?
-            Dear God above me,
-        Do they suspect?
-            Nay, that’s not so,
-            ’Tis just goodness, I know.”
-
-    And still the Servant her secret kept,
-    Yet from the hurt of her penance wept.
-
-
-
-    VI.
-
-    Three times have the waters frozen
-    Thrice thawed at the touch of spring
-    Three times did the Servant
-    From Kiev her store of blessings bring.
-    And each time gentle Katherine,
-    As daughter, set her on her way,
-    A fourth time led her by the mounds
-    Where many dear departed lay.
-    Then prayed to God for her safe return,
-    For whom in absence her heart would yearn.
-
-    It was the Sunday of the Virgin,
-    Old Trophimus sat in garments white,
-    On the bench, in wide straw hat,
-    All amid the sunshine bright.
-    Before him with a little dog
-    His frolicsome grandson played,
-    The while his little granddaughter
-    Was in her mother’s garb arrayed.
-    Smiling he welcomed her as matron;
-    For so at “visitors” they played.
-
-    “But what did you do with the visitor’s cake?
-    Did somebody steal it in the wood,
-    Or perhaps you’ve simply forgotten to bake?”
-    For so they talked in lightsome mood.
-
-    But see,—Who comes?
-    ’Tis their Anna at the door!
-    Run old and young! Who’ll come before?
-    But Anna waits not their welcome wordy.
-
-    “Is Mark at home, or still on journey?”
-
-    “He’s off on journey long enough,”
-    Says the old man in accents gruff.
-
-    With pain the Servant sadly saith,
-    “Home have I come with failing breath;
-    Nor ’mid strangers would I wait for death.
-    May I but live my Mark to see,
-    For something grievously weighs on me.”
-
-    From little bag the children’s gifts
-    She takes. There’s crosses and amulets.
-    For Irene is of beads a string,
-    And pictures too, and for Karpon
-    A nightingale to sweetly sing,
-    Toy horses and a wagon.
-    A fourth time she brings a ring
-    From St. Barbara to Katherine.
-    Next the old man’s gift she handles,
-    It’s just three holy waxen candles.
-
-    For Mark and herself
-            she nothing brought;
-    For want of money
-            she nothing bought.
-
-    For want of strength
-            more funds to earn,
-    Half a bun was her wealth
-            on her return.
-    As to how to divide it
-    Let the babes decide it.
-
-
-
-    VII.
-
-    She enters now the house so sweet,
-    And daughter Katherine bathes her feet.
-    Then sets her down to dine in state,
-    But my Anna nor drank nor ate.
-
-            “Katherine!
-    When is our Sunday?”
-
-            “After tomorrow’s the day.”
-    “Prayers for the dead soon will we need
-    Such as St. Nicholas may heed.
-    Then we must an offering pay,
-    For Mark tarries on the way.
-    Perchance somewhere,
-            from our vision hid,
-    Sickness has ta’en him
-            which God forbid.”
-    The tears dropped down
-            from the sad old eyes,
-    So wearily did she
-            from the table rise.
-
-            “Katherine,
-    My race is run,
-    All my earthly tasks are done.
-    My powers no longer I command
-    Nor on my feet have strength to stand.
-    And yet, my Kate, how can I die
-    While in this dear warm home I lie?”
-
-    The sickness harder grows amain,
-    For her the sacred host’s appointed,
-    She’s been with holy oils anointed,
-    Yet nought relieves her pain.
-    Old Trophim’ in courtyard walks a-ring
-    Moving like a stricken thing.
-    Katherine, for the suff’rers sake
-    Doth never rest for her eyelids take.
-    And even the owls upon the roof
-    Of coming evil tell the proof.
-
-    The suff’rer now, each day, each hour,
-    Whispers the question, with waning power
-    “Daughter Katherine, is Mark yet here?
-    So struggle I with doubt and fear,
-    Did I but know I’d see him for sure
-    Through all my pain I might endure.”
-
-
-
-    VIII.
-
-    Now Mark comes on with the caravan
-    Singing blithely as he can.
-    To the inns he makes no speed,
-    Quietly lets the oxen feed.
-    Mark brings home for Katherine
-    Precious cloth of substance rich;
-    For father dear, a girdle sewn
-    Of silk so red.
-    For Servant Anne
-            a gold cloth bonnet
-    To deck her head,
-            And kerchief, too
-            with white lace on it.
-    For the children are shoes
-            with figs and grapes.
-    There’s gifts for all,
-            there’s none escapes.
-    For all he brings
-            red wine, so fine,
-    From great old city
-            of Constantine.
-    There’s buckets three
-            in each barrel put on.
-    And caviar
-            from the river Don.
-    Such gifts he has
-            in his wagon there,
-    Nor knows the sorrow
-            his loved ones bear.
-    On comes Mark,
-            knows not of worry;
-    But he’s come
-            Give God the glory!
-    The gate he opens,
-            Praising God.
-
-    “Hear’st thou, Katherine?
-    Run to meet him!
-    Already he’s come,
-    Haste to greet him!
-    Quickly bring him in to me.
-    Glory to Thee, my Saviour dear,
-    All the strength has come from Thee.”
-
-    And she “Our Father” softly said
-    Just as if in dream she read.
-    The old man the team unyokes,
-    Lays away the carven yokes.
-    Kate at her husband strangely looks.
-
-    “Where’s Anna, Katherine?
-    I’ve been careless!
-    She’s not dead?”
-
-            “No, not dead,
-    But very sick and calls for thee.”
-
-    On the threshold Mark appears,
-    Standing there as torn by fears.
-    But Anna whispers, “Be not afraid,
-    Glory to God, Who my fears allayed.
-
-    Go forth, Katherine,
-            though I love you well,
-    I’ve something to ask him,
-            something to tell.”
-
-    From the place
-            fair Katherine went;
-    While Mark his head
-            o’er the Servant bent.
-    “Mark, look at me,
-    Look at me well!
-    A secret now I have to tell.
-    On this faded form
-            set no longer store,
-    No servant, I, nor Anna more,
-    I am——”
-            Came silence dumb,
-    Nor yet guessed Mark
-            What was to come.
-
-    Yet once again her eyelids raised
-    Into his eyes she deeply gazed
-    ’Mid gathering tears.
-
-    “I from thee forgiveness pray;
-    I’ve penance offered day by day
-    All my life to serve another.
-    Forgive me, son, of me,
-    For I—am thy mother.”
-
-    She ceased to speak.
-    A sudden faintness
-            Mark did take:
-    It seemed the earth
-            itself did shake.
-    He roused—
-            and to his mother crept,
-    But the mother
-            forever slept.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-A FATHER’S LEGACY
-
-
-When Gregory Shevchenko—for this was the father’s name—was on his
-deathbed, he called his family around him and gave his parting
-bequests. A serf might not, indeed, sell any of his household goods
-without permission of his landlord, but he could give them to his
-relatives who, of course, were the property of the same landlord. So
-Gregory Shevchenko distributed his pitiful treasures to the children
-and to his wife,—saying finally—
-
-“To my son, Taras, I give nothing. He will be no common man. Either he
-will be something very good or else a great rascal. For him the
-patrimony will either mean nothing, or will not help any.”
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-CAUCASUS
-
-
-To Jacques de Balmont—French friend of the Ukrainians who perished in
-the Circassian war.
-
-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.
-
-The memory of these sufferings was the inspiration of this bitter poem.
-
-The text is taken from the prophecy of Jeremiah, Chapter 9, verse 1.
-
-“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.”
-
-
-    Beyond the hills are mightier hills,
-    Cloud mountains o’er them rise,
-    Red, red have flowed their streams and rills,
-    They’re sown with human woes and sighs.
-
-    There long ago in days of old
-    Olympus’ Czar, the angry Jove,
-    His wrath did pour on a hero bold,
-    On brave Prometheus, he who strove
-    The fire of heaven to seize for men.
-
-    On mountain side, in vulture’s den
-    He suffered what no mortal pen
-    May well indite. The savage beak
-    Of his hearts’ blood doth daily reek.
-    Yet the torn heart again revives,
-    To triumph o’er its tortures strives.
-
-    Our souls yield not to grievous ills,
-    To freedom march our stubborn wills.
-    Though waves of trouble o’er us roll
-    The waves move not the steadfast soul.
-    Our living spirit is not in chains,
-    The word of God in glory reigns.
-
-    ’Tis not for us to challenge Thee,
-    Though life rolls on in toil and tears;
-    Though we Thy purpose cannot see
-    We cling to hope ’mid doubts and fears.
-    Our cause lies sunk in drunken sleep
-    When will it awaken, Lord?
-    Oppressors gloat and patriots weep,
-    When wilt strength to us afford?
-
-    So weary, then art Thou, Oh God,
-    Can’st life to us no longer give?
-    Thy Truth we trust beneath the rod,
-    Believing in Thy strength we live.
-    Our cause shall rise,
-    Our freedom rise
-    Though tyrants rage:
-    To Thee alone,
-    All nations bow
-    Through age on age
-    And yet meantime
-            the streams do flow
-    And ever tinged with blood
-            they go.
-
-    Beyond the hills are mightier hills,
-    Cloud mountains o’er them rise.
-    Red, red have flowed their streams and rills,
-    They’re sown with human woes and sighs.
-
-    Look at us in tender heartedness,
-    All in hunger dire and nakedness,
-    Forging freedom in unhappiness,
-    Toiling ever without blessedness.
-
-    The bones of soldiers bleaching lie,
-    In blood and tears must many die.
-
-    In faith, there’s widows’ tears, I think,
-    To all the Czars to give to drink.
-    Then there’s tears of many a maiden
-    Falling so soft in the lonely night.
-    Hot tears of mothers, sorrow-laden,
-    Dry tears of fathers, in grievous plight.
-    Not rivers, but a sea has flowed,
-    A burning sea.
-    To all the Czars who in triumph rode,
-    With their hounds and gamekeepers,
-    Their dogs and their beaters,
-    May glory be!
-
-    To you be glory, hills of blue,
-    All clad in monstrous chains of frost.
-    Glory to you, ye heroes true,
-    With God your labors are not lost.
-    Fear not to fight, you’ll win at length,
-    For you, God’s ruth,
-    For you is freedom, for you is strength,
-    And Holy Truth.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-TO THE CIRCASSIANS
-
-
-    “Our bread and home,” in your own tongue,
-    In Tartar words you dare to say.
-    Nobody gave it you, your world is young,
-    So far no one has ta’en it away.
-    Nobody yet has led you in fetters,
-    But we have wisdom in such matters.
-
-    In God’s good word we daily read,
-    But from dungeons where the pris’ners moan,
-    To Caesar’s high-exalted throne
-    ’Tis gilt without, while the soul’s in need.
-
-    To us for wisdom should you come,
-    We’ll teach you all the tricks of trade.
-    Good Christians we, with church and Ikon;
-    All goods, even God, our own we’ve made.
-
-    But that house of yours
-            Still hurts our eyes;
-    If we didn’t give it,
-            Why should you have it?
-    These ways of yours
-            cause much surprise.
-    We never granted
-            The corn you planted.
-    The sunlight, you
-            Should pay for, too.
-    Oh, quite uneducated you!
-
-    Good Christians we, no pagans needy,
-    Sound in the faith, not a bit greedy.
-    If you in peace from us would learn
-    Store of wisdom you would earn.
-
-    With us what great illumination,
-    A cont’nent ’neath our domination;
-    Siberia great, for illustration.
-    There’s jails and folks ’yond computation.
-
-    From Moldavia to Finlandia
-    Many tongues but nothing said,
-    Except for blessings on your head.
-
-    A holy monk here reads the Bible,
-    Tells the story, ’tis no libel,
-    Of king who stole his neighbour’s wife,
-    And then the neighbour he robbed of life.
-    The king now dwells in paradise.
-    Such folks ’mong us to heaven rise.
-
-    Oh, you creatures unenlightened,
-    Be ye not of our dogmas frightened!
-    Our gentle art of “grab” we’ll teach;
-    A coin to the church and heaven you’ll reach.
-    Whatever is there we can’t do?
-    The stars we count and crops we sow;
-    The foreigner curse,
-    Then fill our purse,
-    The people selling,
-    ’Tis truth I’m telling.
-
-    No niggers we sell, I’m not making jokes,
-    Just common ord’nary Christian folks.
-    No Spaniards we, may God forbid!
-    Nor Jews that stolen goods have hid.
-    So don’t you think you’d like to be
-    Such law-abiding folks as we?
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-TO THE RICH AND GREAT
-
-
-    Is it by the apostle’s law
-    That ye your brother love?
-    Hypocrites and chatterers,
-    Ye’re cursed of God above.
-
-    Not for your brother’s soul you care.
-    It’s only for his skin.
-    The skin from off his back you’d tear,
-    Some trifling prize to win.
-
-    There’s furs for your daughter,
-    Slippers for your wife,
-    And things that you don’t utter
-    About your private life.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-TO THE MASTER
-
-
-    Oh, wherefore wert Thou crucified,
-    Thou Christ, the Son of God?
-    That the word of Truth be glorified?
-    Or that we good folks should ’scape the rod
-    Of avenging wrath, by faith confest?
-    Meanwhile of Thee we make a jest,
-    Mocking Thy love in our conduct’s test.
-
-    Cathedrals and chapels with Icons grand!
-    ’Mid smoke of incense lavers stand.
-    There before Thy pictured Presence
-    Crowds unwearied make obeisance;
-    For spoil, for war, for slaughter seek
-    Their brother’s blood to shed they pray,
-    And then before Thy form so meek
-    The loot of burning towns they lay.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-AGAIN ADDRESSING THE CIRCASSIANS
-
-
-    The sun on us has shone so bright,
-    We wish to you to give the light.
-    That sun of truth we seek to show
-    To children blind, all in a row.
-    Wonders all to see we’ll let you
-    If in our hands we only get you.
-    Of building jails we’ll show the trick,
-    How pris’ners ’gainst their fetters kick.
-    There’s knotted whips for stubborn backs,
-    For saucy nations painful racks.
-    In change for your mountains grand and old,
-    With this instruction we you greet.
-    These are the last things, already we hold
-    The plains and seas beneath our feet.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-TO JACQUES DE BALMONT
-
-
-    So they drove thee along, my dearest friend,
-    For Ukraina did’st thou shed
-    That good heart’s blood of thine so red.
-    Our country’s hangman, shame to think,
-    Muscovite poison gave thee to drink.
-    Oh, friend of mine, unforgotten friend,
-    Ukraine to thee doth welcome send.
-    Let thy spirit fly with Cossacks bold.
-    Along the shores of Dnieper old.
-    O’er ancient tombs hold watch and guard
-    And weep with us in labors hard.
-
-    Till I return to meet thee,
-    My songs I send to greet thee.
-    Such songs they are of bitter woe.
-    Yet ever, always, these I sow.
-
-    Thoughts and songs forever sowing,
-    To the care of winds bestowing.
-    Gentle winds of Ukraine
-    Shall bear them like the dew
-    To that dear land of mine
-    To greet my friends so true.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-THE MEANING OF SERFDOM
-
-
-Three or four days of every week the serfs—men and women alike—must
-labor in their master’s fields for nought. What was left of the week,
-they were granted to earn subsistence for themselves and their
-families.
-
-But that was not the worst. More bitter than labor was the fact that
-they were not their own, were chattels of their lord, who could sell
-them at his pleasure or gamble them away at cards.
-
-He could beat them too, or kill them if he wished, without fear, for
-what advocate would take up the case of a penniless serf against the
-all-powerful aristocracy.
-
-Hideous, too, was the glaring fact that young daughters of the serfs
-were regarded as the legitimate prey of the landlord and, his sons.
-
-In these later days the sins of the fathers have been visited in awful
-fashion on the descendants of these landlords. But can we wonder that
-in the writings of a poet whose childhood was poisoned by knowledge of
-such injustice, we find evidence of the growing avenging fury that
-later was to bring about such awe-inspiring convulsions in human
-society.
-
-Through all of Shevchenko’s verse there sounds the great theme of that
-contrast between the beauty of God’s world, and the horrors of human
-cruelty.
-
-“An earthly heaven we had from Thee; Turned it into hell have we.”
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-                              TO THE DEAD
-
-               And the Living, and the Unborn, Countrymen
-                   of mine, in Ukraine, or out of it,
-                       My Epistle of Friendship.
-
-
-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.
-
-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.
-
-
-    ’Twas dawn, ’tis evening light,
-    So passes Day divine.
-    Again the weary folk
-    And all things earthly
-            Take their rest.
-    I alone, remorseful
-    For my country’s woes,
-            Weep day and night,
-    By the thronged cross-roads,
-    Unheeded by all.
-    They see not, they know not;
-    Deaf ears, they hear not.
-    They trade old fetters for new
-    And barter righteousness,
-    Make nothing of their God.
-    They harness the people
-    With heavy yokes.
-    Evil they plough,
-    With evil they sow.
-    What crops will spring?
-    What harvest will you see?
-
-    Arouse ye, unnatural ones.
-    Children of Herod!
-    Look on this calm Eden,
-    Your own Ukraine,
-    Bestow on her tender love,
-    Mighty in her ruins.
-    Break your fetters,
-    Join in brotherhood,
-    Seek not in foreign lands
-    Things that are not.
-    Nor yet in Heaven,
-    Nor in stranger’s fields,
-    But in your own house
-    Lies your righteousness,
-    Your strength and your liberty.
-
-    In the world is but one Ukraine,
-    Dnieper—there is only one.
-    But you must off to foreign lands
-    To look for something grand and good.
-    Wealth of goodness and liberty,
-    Fraternity and so forth, you found.
-    And back you brought to Ukraine
-    From places far away
-    A wondrous force
-        of lofty sounding words,
-    And nothing more.
-    Shout aloud
-        That God created you for this,
-    To bow the knee to lies,
-    To bend and bend again
-        Your spineless backs
-    And skin again
-        Your brothers—
-    These ignorant buckwheat farmers.
-
-    Try again
-        to ripen crops of truth and light
-    In Germany
-        or some other foreign place.
-    If one should add
-        all our present misery
-    To the wealth
-        Our fathers stole
-    Orphaned, indeed, would Dnieper be
-        with all his holy hills.
-    Faugh! if it should happen
-        that you would never come back,
-    Or get snuffed out
-        just where you were spawned
-    No children would weep
-        nor mothers lament,
-    Nor in God’s house be heard
-        the story of your shame.
-    The sun would not shine
-        on the stench of your filth
-    O’er the clean, broad, free land,
-    Nor would the people know
-        what eagles you were
-    Nor turn their heads to gaze.
-
-    Arouse ye, be men!
-    For evil days come.
-    Quickly a people enchained
-    Shall tear off their fetters;
-    Judgment will come,
-    Dnieper and the hills will speak.
-    A hundred rivers
-        flow to the sea
-        with your children’s blood,
-    Nor will there be any to help.
-    Smoke clouds hide the sun
-    Through the ages
-        Your sons shall curse you.
-
-    Wash yourselves—
-        The divine likeness in you
-            defile not with slime.
-    Befool not your children
-        that they were born to the world
-            to be lordlings.
-    The eyes of men untaught
-        see deep, deep
-            into your soul.
-    Poor things they may he,
-        yet they know the ass
-            in the lion’s skin.
-    And they will judge you,
-        the foolish will pronounce the doom
-            of the wise.
-
-
-
-    II.
-
-    Did you but study as you should,
-    You would possess your own wisdom;
-    And you might creep up to heaven.
-
-    But it is we—
-            Oh, no, not we;
-        It is I—no, no, not I.
-    I’ve seen it all, I know it.
-    There’s neither heaven nor hell,
-    Not even God—
-        Just I and the short, fat German,
-            Nothing more.
-
-    Grand, my brother.
-    You ask me something,
-        “I don’t know,
-            Ask the German,
-            He’ll tell you.”
-    That’s the way you learn
-        in foreign lands.
-    The German says—
-        “You are Mongols.
-            Mongols, Mongols;
-    Naked children
-        of the golden Tamerlane.”
-    The German says—
-        “You are Slavs,
-            Slavs, Slavs;
-    Ugly offspring
-        of famous ancestors.”
-    You read the writings
-        of the great Slavophils,
-    Push in among them,
-        Get on so well
-    That you know all the tongues
-        of the Slavonic peoples
-    Except your own—God help it.
-    “Oh, as for that
-        Sometime we’ll speak
-            our own language
-    When the German
-        shows us how,
-    Our history too,
-        he will explain,
-    Then we’ll be alright!”
-    It came about finely
-        on the German advice.
-    They learned to speak so well
-        That even the mighty German
-            could not understand them,
-    Not to speak of common folks.
-    Oh what a noise and racket!
-    “There’s Harmony, and Force
-    And Music—and everything.
-    And as for History
-    The Epic of a free people!
-    What’s all this about the poor Romans,
-    Brutus, etcetera, and the Devil knows what?
-    Have we not our Brutuses
-        and our Cocles
-    Glorious and never to be forgotten?
-    Why freedom grew up with us
-    Bathed in the Dnieper
-    Rested her head on our hills,
-    The far-flung Steppes
-        are her garments.”
-    Alas! ’twas in blood she bathed
-    Pillowed her head on burial mounds
-        On bodies of Cossack freemen,
-            Corpses despoiled.
-    But look ye well
-        Read again of that glory!
-    Read it, word by word,
-    Miss not a jot nor tittle,
-    Grasp it all:
-        Then ask yourselves—
-    Who are we? Whose sons?
-        Of what fathers?
-            By whom and why enchained?
-    Then you shall see
-        Who your glorious Brutuses are.
-    Slaves, door-mats!
-        mud of Moscow
-            scum of Warsaw
-                are your lords;
-    Glorious heroes they are.
-    Why are you so proud
-    Sons of unhappy Ukraine.
-    That you go so well under the yoke?
-    Even better you go
-        than your fathers went.
-    Don’t brag so much,
-        they just skin you,
-    They rendered out your fathers’ bones
-    Perhaps you are proud
-        that your brotherhood
-            has defended the faith.
-    You cooked your dough-nuts
-        o’er the fires
-            of burning Turkish towns,
-    of Sinope and Trebizond.
-        True for you
-            And you ate them
-    And now they pain you,
-    And on your own fields
-        the wily German
-            plants potatoes.
-    You buy them from him,
-      eat them for the good of your health
-        and praise Cossackery.
-    But with whose blood
-        was the land sprinkled
-            that grew the potatoes?
-    Oh, that’s a trifle;
-        so long as it’s good for the garden.
-    Very proud you are
-        that we once destroyed Poland.
-    Very true indeed:
-        Poland fell,
-            but fell on top of us.
-    So your fathers shed their blood
-        for Moscow and for Warsaw,
-    And left to you, their sons
-        their fetters and their glory.
-
-
-
-    III.
-
-    To the very limit
-            has our country come,
-    Her own children
-        crucify her
-        worse than the Poles.
-    How like beer
-        they draw off
-            her righteous blood.
-    They would, you see
-        enlighten the maternal eyes
-            with everlasting fires;
-    Lead on the poor blind cripple
-        after the spirit of the age,
-        German fashion!
-    Fine, go ahead,
-        show us the way!
-    Let the old mother learn
-        how to look after such children
-    Show away!
-        For this instruction,
-    Don’t worry—
-        Good motherly reward will be.
-    The illusion fades
-        from your greedy eyes
-    Glory shall you see,
-        such glory as fits
-            the sons of deceitful sires.
-
-    To study then, my brothers,
-    Think and read,
-    Learn from the foreigner
-    Despise not your own.
-    Who forgets his mother
-    Him God will punish.
-    Foreigners will despise him
-    Nor admit him to their homes;
-    His children shall as strangers be
-    Nor shall he find happiness on earth.
-    I weep when I remember
-        the deeds of our fathers,
-            deeds I can not forget.
-    Heavy on my heart they lie;
-        Half my life I’d give
-            could I forget them.
-    Such is our glory
-        the glory of Ukraine.
-    So read then
-        that ye may see
-    Not in dream
-        but in vision
-        All the wrongs that lie
-          beneath yon mighty tombs.
-    Ask then of the martyrs
-        by whom, when and for what
-            were they crucified.
-    Embrace then
-        brothers mine—
-    The least of your brethren.
-    That your mother may smile again,
-    Smile through her tears.
-    Give blessings to your children
-        with hard toiler’s hands;
-    With free lips kiss them
-        when they are washed and clad.
-    Forget the shameful past
-    And the true glory shall live again,
-        the glory of the Ukraine.
-    And clear light of day
-        not twilight gloom
-    Shall gently shine.
-    Love one another, my brothers,
-    I pray you—I plead.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-FREEDOM AND FRIENDS
-
-
-With his new freedom Shevchenko finds himself in a different world. Not
-only does he meet the most brilliant people of the Russian
-Capital—scientists, artists, generals, nobles are his intimates. Count
-Tolstoi and Prince and Princess Repnin are his patrons.
-
-He is introduced, too, in Russian or Polish translations to the great
-authors of other lands and times,—Greece and Rome, Germany and Britain
-offer him their treasures.
-
-To us it is interesting to know that Byron, Walter Scott, and
-Shakespeare profoundly influenced him.
-
-But a conflict of spirit now faces him. His worldly interests and his
-judgment advise him to go on with his painting. But strange music seems
-to ring in his ears. It is the music of his beautiful and suffering
-Ukraine. Songs seem to come to him from the wind and he writes them
-down.
-
-They are in the peasant language of the Ukraine.
-
-His ‘Kobzar’ appears in its first edition, with eight poems, in 1840.
-It is like a lightning flash through Russia.
-
-Great Russian critics sneered at it, saying it was in the language of
-the swineherds. But the whole Ukraine recognized it as the voice of
-their suppressed nation. The down-trodden masses of all Russia knew
-that they had found a spokesman.
-
-Shevchenko was now famous but he had chosen, without knowing it, ‘The
-Way of the Cross.’
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-A DREAM
-
-
-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.
-
-
-    Oh my lofty hills—
-    Yet not so lofty
-    But beautiful ye are.
-    Sky-blue in the distance;
-    Older than old Pereyaslav,
-    Or the tombs of Vebla,
-    Like those clouds that rest
-    Beyond the Dnieper.
-
-    I walk with quiet step,
-    And watch the wonders peeping out.
-    Out of the clouds march silently
-    Scarped cliff and bush and solitary tree;
-    White cottages creep forth
-    Like children in white garments,
-    Playing in the valley’s gloom.
-    And far below our gray old Cossack,
-    The Dnieper, sings musically
-    Amid the woods.
-    And then beyond the Dnieper on the hillside,
-    The little Cossack church
-    Stands like a chapel,
-    With its leaning cross.
-
-    Long it stands there, gazing, waiting,
-    For the Cossacks from the Delta;
-    To the Dnieper prattles,
-    Telling all its woe
-    From its green-stained windows,
-    Like eyes of the dead,
-    It peeps as from the tomb.
-    Dost thou look for restoration?
-    Expect not such glory.
-    Robbed are thy people.
-    For what care the wicked lords
-    For the ancient Cossack fame?
-
-    And Traktemir above the hill
-    Scatters its wretched houses
-    Like a drunken beggar’s bags.
-    And there is old Manaster
-    Once a Cossack town.
-    Is that the one that used to be?
-    All, all is gone, as a playground for the kings
-    The land of the Zaporogues and the village
-    All, all the greedy ones have taken.
-    And you hills, you permitted it!
-    May no one look on you more
-    Cursed ones!—No! No!
-    Not you I curse,
-    But our quarreling generals,
-    And the inhuman Poles.
-
-    Forgive me, my lofty ones,
-    Lofty ones and blue,
-    Finest in the world, and holiest,
-    Forgive me, I pray God.
-    For so I love my poor Ukraina,
-    I might blaspheme the holy God,
-    And for her lose my soul.
-    On a curve of lofty Traktemir
-    A lonely cottage like an orphan stands,
-    Ready to plunge from off the height
-    To loved Dnieper, far below.
-    From that house Ukraina is seen,
-    And all the land of the Hetmans.
-    Beside the house an old gray father sits.
-    Beyond the river the sun goes down
-    As he sits, and looks, and sadly thinks.
-    “Alas, Alas!” the old man cries,
-    “Fools, that lost this land of God,
-    The Hetmans’ land.”
-    His brow with thought is clouded,
-    Something bitter he would have said
-    But did not.
-
-    “Much have I wandered in the world,
-    In peasant’s coat and garb of lord.
-    How is it beyond the Ural,
-    Among the Kirghiz, Tartars?
-    Good God, even there it is better
-    Than in our Ukraina.
-    Perhaps because the Kirghiz
-    Are not Christians.
-    Much evil hast thou done, Oh Christ,
-    Hast changed the people God had made.
-    Our Cossacks lost their foolish heads
-    For truth, and the Christian faith.
-    Much blood they shed, their own and others.
-    And were they better for it?
-    Bah! No! They were ten times worse.
-    Apart from knife and auto-da-fe
-    They have chained up the people,
-    And they kill them.
-    Oh gentlemen, Christian gentlemen!”
-
-    My grey old man, with sorrow beaten,
-    Ceased, and bent his brave old head.
-    The evening sun gilded the woods,
-    The river and fields were covered with gold.
-    Mazeppa’s cathedral in whiteness shines;
-    Great Bogdan’s tomb is gleaming,
-    The willows bend o’er the road to Kiev,
-    And hide the Three Brothers’ ancient graves.
-    Trubail and Alta, mid the reeds
-    Approach, unite in sisterly embrace.
-    Everything, everything gladdens the eyes,
-    But the heart is sad and will not see.
-    The glowing sun has bade farewell
-    To the dark land.
-    The round moon rises with her sister star,
-    Out they step from behind the clouds.
-    The clouds rejoiced
-    But the old man gazed,
-    And his tears rolled down.
-    “I pray Thee, merciful God,
-    Mighty Lord, Heavenly Judge,
-    Suffer me not to perish;
-    Grant me strength to overcome my woe.
-    To live out my life on these sacred hills:
-    To glorify Thee and rejoice in Thy beauty,
-    And at last, though beaten by the people’s sins.
-    To be buried on these lofty hills,
-    And to abide on them.”
-
-    He dried his tears,
-    Hot tears, though not the tears of youth;
-    And thought on the blessed years of long ago
-    Where was this?
-    What, how, and when?
-    Was it truth, or was it dream?
-    On what seas have I been sailing?
-    The green wood in the twilight,
-    The maiden with eyebrows dark,
-    The moon at rest among the stars,
-    The nightingale on the viburnum,
-    Whether in silence or in song
-    Praising the Holy God.
-    And all, all is in Ukraina.
-    The old man smiled—
-    Well, it may be—you can’t avoid the truth
-    So it was—they wooed,
-    They parted, they did not marry.
-    She left him to live alone,
-    To live out his life.
-
-    The old man was sad again,
-    Wandered long about the house,
-    Then prayed to God,
-    Went in the house to sleep,
-    And the moon was swathed in clouds.
-
-    Thus in a foreign land
-    I dreamed my dream,
-    As if born again to the world
-    In freedom once more.
-    Grant me, Oh God, some time,
-    In old age, perchance,
-    To stand again on these stolen hills,
-    In a little cottage,
-    To bring my heart eaten out with sorrow
-    To rest at last, on the hills above the Dnieper.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-A TRIUMPHAL MARCH
-
-
-In 1845 Shevchenko was graduated from the Imperial Academy of Arts at
-Petersburg. Shortly after he travelled to the Ukraine, purposing to
-devote his life to the service of his own people.
-
-His progress was a triumphal march, a succession of banquets and
-popular welcomes and entertainments at the homes of the wealthy.
-
-At Kiev people still remember that the earliest Russian civilization
-had its beginnings in the Ukraine. There Christianity first took root,
-and there were the first Russian Princes.
-
-Before Shevchenko’s arrival there was organized at Kiev the Society of
-Cyril and Methodius, called after the great apostles of Russia, and the
-leading spirits of the Society were professors in the University of
-Kiev.
-
-Into this brilliant company Shevchenko was welcomed. Its leaders became
-his devoted friends. A chair of painting in the University was to be
-established for him.
-
-Most remarkable were the relations between Shevchenko and Professor
-Kulisch. Kulisch was to be married to a great lady, a daughter of one
-of the nobles of the country. The poet was invited to the wedding and
-the bride, in her enthusiasm, actually kissed his hand. This was an
-astonishing act of condescension towards one who had been a serf, but
-this lady, herself afterwards a famous authoress, cherished the memory
-to her dying day.
-
-Shevchenko’s saddest experience in the Ukraine was when he visited his
-native village and found his brothers and sisters in serfdom. His dream
-was to earn enough money to purchase their freedom, and afterwards to
-devote his life to the liberation of the peasantry. The poem—“The
-Bondwoman’s Dream”—commemorates the poet’s meeting with his favorite
-sister, Katherine, working as a slave.
-
-His friends thought he should go to Italy to perfect himself in
-painting. Madame Kulisch purposed to sell her family jewels to raise
-sufficient money to send Shevchenko to that country. Her husband who
-was in the plot told Shevchenko that some wealthy person had
-contributed the money but he must not ask for the donor’s name.
-
-But on returning to Kiev from the Kulisch home a policeman put his hand
-on the shoulder of the poet painter.
-
-The bright dream was ended.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-THE BONDWOMAN’S DREAM
-
-
-    The slave with sickle
-        reaped the wheat,
-    Then wearily limped
-        among the stooks;
-    But not to rest,
-    Her little son she sought
-    Who wakened crying
-        in cool nest
-            among the sheaves.
-    His swaddled limbs unwrapped
-        she nourished him,
-    Then, dandling him a moment
-        fell asleep.
-    In dreams she saw
-        her little son,
-    Her Johnny, grown to man,
-        handsome and rich.
-    No lonely bachelor
-        but a married man
-    In freedom it seemed,
-        no longer the landlord’s
-            but his own man.
-    And in their own joyous field
-        his wife and he
-            reaped their own wheat,
-    Their children brought their food.
-        The poor thing
-            laughed in her sleep,
-    Woke up—
-        a dream indeed it was.
-    She looked at Johnny,
-        picked him up and swaddled him,
-    And back to her allotted task;
-    Sixty stooks her stint.
-    Perhaps the last of the sixty it was:
-        God grant it.
-    And God grant
-        this dream of thine
-            may be fulfilled.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-TO THE MAKERS OF SENTIMENTAL IDYLS.
-
-
-    Did you but know, fine dandy,
-    The people’s life of misery
-    You would not use such pretty phrases,
-    Nor give to God such empty praises.
-    At our tears you’re laughing,
-    And our sorrows chaffing,
-    Slave’s cot in a shady spot—
-    You call it heaven! Rot!
-    I lived once in such a shanty,
-    Of childhood’s tears I shed a plenty,
-    In bitter sorrows we were wise,
-    Home that you call paradise.
-
-    No paradise I call thee,
-    Little cottage in the wood,
-    With the water pure beside thee
-    Close by the village rude!
-    There my mother bore me,
-    Singing she tended me;
-    My child’s heart drank in her pain.
-
-    Cottage in the shady dell,
-    Heaven outside, inside hell;
-    But slavery there,
-        with labor weary,
-    Nor time for prayer
-        in life so dreary.
-
-    My mother good to her early grave
-    Was hurled by sorrows wave on wave.
-
-    The father weeping o’er his young,
-          (little and naked were we),
-    Sank ’neath the weight of fated wrong
-    And died in slavery.
-    The children, we, of home bereft
-    Like little mice ’mong neighbors crept.
-
-    Water drawer was I at school,
-    My brothers toiled ’neath landlord’s rule.
-
-    For my sisters an evil fate must be,
-    Though little doves they seemed to me;
-    Into life as serfs they’re born,
-    And die they must in that lot forlorn.
-
-    I shudder yet, where’er I roam,
-    When I think of life in that village home.
-
-    Evil-doers, Oh God, are we,
-    An earthly heaven we had from Thee,
-    Turned it into hell have we,
-    And a second heaven is now our plea.
-
-    Gently we live with our brothers now,
-    With their lives our fields we plough;
-    Fields that with their tears are wet,
-    And yet—
-    What do we know?
-        yet it seems as if Thou!
-    (For without Thy will
-    Should we suffer ill?)
-    Dost Thou, Oh Father in heaven holy
-    Laugh at us the poor and lowly?
-    Advise with them of noble birth
-    How so cleverly to rule the earth?
-
-    For see the woods their branches waving,
-    And there beyond, the white pool gleaming
-    And willows o’er the water bending,
-    Garden of Eden it is in sooth,
-    But of its deeds enquire the truth.
-
-    This wondrous earth should tell a story
-    Of endless joy, and praise, and glory
-    To Thee, Oh God, unique and holy.
-    Unhallowed spot,
-    Whence praise comes not!
-    A world of tears where curses rise,
-    To heaven above the hopeless skies.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-AUTOCRAT VERSUS POET
-
-
-Nicholas I was brought up in the traditions of autocracy and believed
-in them with all his heart. He hated liberal thought and detested the
-idea of educating the masses.
-
-Tens of thousands of copies of the New Testament and the Psalter were
-burned by his orders. He said such books were for the priests, not for
-the common people. Incidentally it may be remarked that the priests had
-to teach what he wanted or lose their jobs.
-
-To speak against his government, or even to criticize czars who reigned
-hundreds of years before him was a crime.
-
-The little band of dreamers who formed the Society of Cyril and
-Methodius actually hoped to convert this autocrat, and secure his
-assistance in freeing the people. They had visions of a free
-Confederation of Slavonic states, after the pattern of the United
-States of America, but with the czar as head. But they sadly misjudged
-their man.
-
-Shevchenko had actually spoken impertinently of the Autocrat in his
-poems. He refused to retract.
-
-The government really wished to he lenient, if he would only be good
-and confess that he had done wrong. But Shevchenko was not of those who
-are willing to admit that black is white.
-
-The gloomy autocracy now pronounces his doom—a sort of living death in
-Siberian barracks. The czar added to the sentence, with his own hand,
-the proviso that he should not be allowed either to write or to paint.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-A POEM OF EXILE
-
-
-    I count in prison the days and nights
-    And then forget the count.
-    How heavily, Oh Lord,
-    Do these days pass!
-    And the years flow after them,
-    Quietly they flow,
-    Bearing with them
-    Good and ill.
-    Everything do they gather
-    Never do they return.
-    You need not plead,
-    Your prayers unanswered fall.
-    Mid oozy swamps
-        among the weeds
-    Year after weary year
-        has sadly flowed.
-    Much of something have they taken
-    From dark store-house of my heart;
-    Borne it quietly to the sea,
-        As quietly the sea swallowed it.
-    Not gold and silver
-        Did they take from me,
-    But good years of mine
-        Freighted with loneliness,
-    Sorrows written on the heart
-        With unseen pen.
-    And a fourth year passes
-        So gently, so slowly,
-    The fourth book
-        of my imprisonment
-    I start to stitch up,
-    Embroidering it with tears
-        Of homesickness
-            in a foreign land.
-    Yet such woe
-        tells itself not in words.
-    Never, never
-        in the wide world.
-    In far away captivity
-        There are no words
-    Not even tears,
-        Just nothingness;
-    Not even God above thee,
-    Nothing is there to see,
-    None with whom to speak,
-    Not even desire for life.
-    Yet thou must live!
-    I must! I must!
-        But for what?
-    That I may not lose my soul?
-    My soul is not worth
-        such suffering!
-    Then why must I live on
-        in the world,
-    Drag these fetters
-        in my jail?
-    Because, perchance,
-        my own Ukraine
-    I shall see again.
-    Again I shall pour out
-        my words of sorrow
-    To the green groves
-        and rich meadows.
-    No family have I of my own
-        in all Ukraine,
-    Yet the people there
-        are different from these foreigners
-    I would walk again
-        among the bright villages
-    On the Dnieper’s banks
-        and sing my thoughts
-            gentle and sad.
-    Grant me,
-        Oh God of mercy
-    That I may live
-        to see again
-    Those green meadows,
-        those ancestral tombs.
-    If Thou wilt not grant this,
-        Yet bear my tears
-    To my Ukraine.
-        Because, God,
-    I die for her.
-    It may be that I shall lie
-        more lightly in foreign soil
-    When sometimes in Ukraine
-        they speak of my memory.
-    Carry my tears then
-        Oh God of loving kindness,
-    Or at least
-        send hope into my soul.
-    I can think no more
-        with my poor head,
-    For coldness of death
-        comes on me
-    When I think that they may
-        bury me in foreign soil
-    And bury my thoughts with me
-        And none tell about me
-            in the Ukraine.
-
-    And yet it may be
-        that gently through the years
-    My tear-embroidered songs
-        shall fly sometime
-    And fall
-        as dew upon the ground
-    On the tender heart of youth,
-    And youth shall nod assent.
-    And weep for me
-    Making mention of me in its prayers.
-    Well, as it will be
-        so it will be.
-    Perhaps ’twill swim
-        Perhaps ’twill wade
-    Yet even if they crucify me for it
-    I’ll still write my verses.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-SIBERIAN EXILE
-
-
-Now-a-days we have many discussions and searchings of heart over the
-question of prisons and the purpose of punishment. I doubt if the
-autocracy suffered many qualms of conscience in such matters. It was
-simply an affair of silencing a dangerous voice and disciplining an
-unruly subject.
-
-They were too humane to put him to death, they merely sought to crush
-his spirit. But the Slav spirit is hard to crush. It may brood and
-smoulder long, but sometime or other it will burst out in flames.
-
-In the case of Shevchenko another influence may be seen at work. In his
-ragged youth, when acting as assistant to a drunken church singer he
-gained at least one thing. That was a familiarity with the Psalter and
-the Hebrew prophets. The deep religious fire of the Hebrew seems fused
-with his own irrepressible native genius to form a spirit that could
-not be subdued.
-
-They tried to make a soldier of him but he could not or would not learn
-the tricks of the soldier’s trade.
-
-They forbade him to write but he wrote verses secretly and concealed
-them.
-
-Occasionally a humane commander would relax the severity of the rules.
-One governor allowed him as a hidden favor the reading of the Bible and
-Shakespeare.
-
-At another time he was taken with a scientific expedition to the Sea of
-Aral, and employed in the congenial task of painting the wild scenery
-of that part.
-
-At other times again the severity would be redoubled and pen, ink and
-paper would be forbidden. Through it all his love and sorrow for his
-native land increased. Only the remembrance of Ukraine kept him alive.
-
-Ten years of Siberia changed the gay young artist of bright eyes and
-abundant locks to a gray-bearded, bald-headed old man on whom Death had
-set his seal.
-
-But his spirit was still unconquered. At the end of his imprisonment he
-wrote the “Goddess of Fame” and the “Hymn of the Nuns” to show it.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-MEMORIES OF FREEDOM
-
-
-    Memories of Freedom
-    Bring sweet sadness to the exile’s heart
-    And so lost liberty of mine
-    I dream of thee.
-    Never hast thou seemed to me
-    So fresh and young
-    And so surpassing fair
-    As now in this foreign land.
-    Alas! Alas!
-    Freedom that I sang away
-    Look at me from o’er the Dnieper,
-    Smile at me from there.
-    And thou my only love
-    Risest o’er the sea so far.
-    In the mist thy face appears
-    Like the evening star.
-    With thee, my only one
-    Thou bring’st my youthful years.
-    Before me like a sea—
-    Hamlets fair in broad array,
-    Cherry orchards, joyous crowds.
-    This the village, This the people
-    Who once as brothers
-    Welcomed me.
-    Mother! Dear old mother!
-    Home of memories fond!
-    Happy guests of days gone by!
-    Who gathered there in days gone by
-    Simply to dance in the good old way
-    From evening light till dawn.
-    Do sun-burned youth
-    And happy maidenhood
-    Still dance in the dear old home?
-    And thou, sweetheart of mine,
-    Thou heartsease of mine,
-    My sacred, dark-eyed one!
-    Still amongst them dost thou walk
-    Silent and proud?
-    And with those blue-black eyes
-    Still dost bewitch
-        the peoples’ souls?
-    Still as of old
-    Do they admire in vain
-    Thy supple form?
-    Goddess mine! fate of mine!
-    How wee maidens
-    Gather round thee,
-    Chirping and prattling
-    In the good old way.
-
-    Perchance, unwittingly,
-    The children remember me,
-    One makes a little jest of me.
-    Smile, my heart!
-    Just a little, little smile
-    That no one sees.
-    That’s all. I, worse luck!
-    Must pray to God in jail.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-MEMORIES OF AN EXILE
-
-
-    Memories of mine,
-        Memories of home,
-    Sole wealth of mine,
-        Where’er I roam.
-    When sorrows lower
-    In evil hour
-    And griefs o’ertake me
-    You’ll not forsake me
-        From the land of my early loves
-    You will fly like grey-winged doves
-    From broad Dnieper’s shore
-    O’er the steppes to soar.
-    Here the Kirghiz Tartars
-    Dwell naked in poverty.
-    They’re wretched as martyrs
-    Yet this is their liberty;
-    To God they may pray
-    And none say them nay.
-    Will you but fly to meet me,
-    With gentle words
-        I’ll greet ye.
-    Of my heart
-        ye children dear
-    O’er past loves
-        we’ll shed a tear.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-DEATH OF THE SOUL
-
-
-    As the nights pass, so pass the days,
-    The year itself passes.
-    Again I hear the rustling
-        of autumn leaves.
-    The light of the eyes is fading,
-    Memory is in the heart asleep.
-    Everything sleeps,
-        and I know not
-    If I live or am already dead.
-    For so, aimless
-        I wander in the world
-    No longer weep nor laugh.
-
-    Fate, where art thou?
-        Fate, where art thou?
-    There’s none of any sort!
-    Dost grudge me good fate,
-        Oh God,
-    Then send it bad, as bad.
-    Leave me not
-        to a walking sleep.
-    With heart like bears’
-        in wintry den,
-    Nor yet like rotten log
-        on earth to lie;
-    But give me to live,
-        with the heart to live,
-    And love the people.
-    If you won’t
-        Let me curse them
-    and burn up the world.
-
-    Terrible it is to fall
-        into dungeons
-    Yet much worse—to sleep
-    And sleep and sleep
-        in freedom;
-    To slumber for an eternity
-    And leave not a footprint behind.
-    All alike—
-        whether one lives or dies.
-
-    Fate where art thou?
-        Fate where art thou?
-    There’s none of any sort!
-    Dost grudge me good fate, Oh God,
-    Then give me bad, as bad.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-HYMN OF EXILE
-
-
-    The sun goes down beyond the hill,
-    The shadows darken, birds are still;
-    From fields no more come toiler’s voices
-    In blissful rest the world rejoices.
-    With lifted heart I, gazing stand,
-    Seek shady grove in Ukraine’s land.
-    Uplifted thus, ’mid memories fond
-    My heart finds rest, o’er the hills beyond.
-    On fields and woods the darkness falls
-    From heaven blue a bright star calls,
-    The tears fall down. Oh, evening star!
-    Hast thou appeared in Ukraine far?
-    In that fair land do sweet eyes seek thee
-    Dear eyes that once were wont to greet me?
-    Have eyes forgotten their tryst to keep?
-    Oh then, in slumber let them sleep
-    No longer o’er my fate to weep.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-RETURNING HOME
-
-
-After a while a new Caesar came to the throne, a man who was thought to
-have liberal tendencies.
-
-Shevchenko’s friends at once busied themselves with efforts for his
-release. Finally amnesty was granted. Count Tolstoi, on receiving the
-news late at night, hastened to waken his household and there was a
-family jubilation.
-
-But the new autocrat, though somewhat benevolently inclined, was also a
-little bit suspicious. The banished poet was a pretty dangerous
-character. He had even disturbed the conscience of autocracy itself,
-hence he was only allowed to approach his home country by degrees.
-Finally he was allowed to reside in Petrograd and later even in
-Ukraine, welcomed everywhere by loving and pitying friends.
-
-His wish for his old age was to inhabit a little cottage on the
-Dnieper’s banks. For this purpose he purchased a piece of land on one
-of those hills so often referred to in his poems.
-
-Death came too soon, however, but the property served as the site of
-his last resting place. He died at Petrograd but in the spring his
-remains were carried the long distance to his old home. A mourning
-people lined the way.
-
-Only a couple of days after the poet’s death, appeared the ukase of the
-czar proclaiming the abolition of serfdom. To the common people it
-seemed that their peasant poet, by his songs and his sufferings, had
-been the prime cause of their new freedom.
-
-No speeches were allowed at the interment on the hill above the Dnieper
-but there were many people and many wreaths of flowers.
-
-One wreath, deposited by a lady, expressed more than anything else the
-common feeling. That wreath was a crown of thorns.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-ON THE ELEVENTH PSALM
-
-
-    Merciful God, how few
-    Good folk remain on earth.
-    Behold, each one in heart
-    Is setting snares for another.
-    But with fine words,
-    And lips honey-sweet
-    They kiss—and wait
-    To see how soon
-    Their brother to his grave
-    Will find his way.
-
-    But Thou who art Lord alone
-    Shuttest up the evil lips,
-    That great-speaking tongue
-    That says:—
-        “No trifling thing are we,
-    How glorious shall we show
-    In intellect and speech.
-    Who is that Lord
-        that will forbid
-    Our thoughts and words?”
-
-    Yea, the Lord shall say to Thee
-    “I shall arise, this day
-    On their behalf—
-        People of mine in chains,
-    The poor and humble ones
-        These will I glorify.
-    Little, dumb and slaves are they,
-    Yet on guard about them
-        Will I set my Word.”
-
-    Like trampled grass
-    Shall perish your thoughts
-    And words alike.
-
-    Like silver, hammered, beaten,
-    Seven times melted o’er the fire,
-    Are thy words, Oh Lord.
-    Scatter these holy words of Thine,
-    O’er all the earth,
-    That Thy children
-        little and poor
-    May believe in miracles on earth.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-PRAYER I.
-
-
-    To Tsars and kings
-    who tax the world,
-    Send dollars and ducats,
-    And fetters well-forged.
-
-    To toiling heads and toiling hands,
-    Laboring on these stolen lands
-    Endurance and strength.
-
-    To me, my God, on this sad earth,
-    Give me but love,
-        the heart’s paradise
-    And nothing more.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-PRAYER II.
-
-
-    My prayer for the Tsars,
-        These traffickers in blood,
-    That Thou on them would’st put
-        Fetters of iron, in dungeons deep.
-
-    My prayer for the peoples
-          toiling long,
-    Do Thou to them
-              on their ravaged lands,
-    Send down Thy strength
-            most merciful One.
-    And for the pure in heart
-        Grant angel guards beside them,
-    To keep them pure.
-
-    And for myself, Oh Lord,
-    I ask nought else
-    But truth on earth to love,
-    And one true friend
-            to love me.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-PRAYER III.
-
-
-    For those that have done wrong to me,
-    No longer do I fetters ask,
-    Nor dungeons deep.
-
-    For hands that faithful toil for good
-    Send Thy instructions’ gracious aid,
-    And Holy strength.
-
-    For tender ones,
-            the pure in heart
-    Do Thou, Oh God,
-            their virtue save
-    With angel’s guard.
-
-    For all Thy children on this earth
-    May they Thy wisdom
-          know alike,
-    In brother love.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-PRAYER IV.
-
-
-    To those of the ever-greedy eyes,
-    Gods of earth, the Tsars,
-    Are the ploughs and the ships,
-    And all good things of earth
-    For these little gods.
-
-    To toiling hands,
-    To toiling brains
-    Is given to plough the barren field,
-    To think, to sow, and take no rest
-    And reap the fields anon.
-    Such the reward of toiling hands.
-
-    For the true-hearted lowly ones,
-    Peace-loving saints,
-    Oh, Creator of heaven and earth,
-    Give long life on earth,
-    And paradise beyond.
-
-    All good things of earth
-    Are for these gods, the Tsars,
-    Ploughs and ships,
-    All wealth of earth
-    For us—good luck!
-    Is left to love our brothers.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-MIGHTY WIND
-
-
-    Mighty wind, mighty wind!
-      With the sea thou speakest;
-    Waken it, play with it,
-      Question the blue sea.
-    It knows where my lover is,
-      Far away it bore him.
-    It will tell, the sea will tell,
-      What it has done with him.
-
-    If it has drowned my darling,
-      Beat on the blue sea.
-    I go to seek my loved one,
-      And to drown my woe.
-    If I find him, I’ll cling to him,
-      On his heart I’ll faint.
-    Then waves bear me with him
-      Where’er the winds do blow.
-
-    If my lover is beyond the sea,
-      Mighty wind, thou knowest
-    Where he goes, what he does,
-      With him thou speakest.
-    If he weeps, then I shall weep,
-      If not, I sing.
-    If my dark-haired one has perished,
-      I shall perish, too.
-
-    Then bear my soul away
-      Where my loved one is,
-    Plant me as a red viburnum
-      On his tomb.
-    Better that an orphan lie
-      In a stranger’s field,
-    Over him his sweetheart
-      Will bud and bloom.
-
-    As a blossom of viburnum
-      Over him I’ll bloom,
-    That foreign sun may burn him not,
-      Nor strangers trample on his tomb.
-    At even I’ll grieve,
-      In the morning I’ll weep.
-    The sun comes up,
-      My tears I’ll dry,
-    And no one sees.
-
-    Mighty wind, mighty wind!
-      With the sea thou speakest.
-    Waken it, play on it,
-      Question the blue sea.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-THE WATER FAIRY
-
-
-    Me my mother bore
-      ’Mid lofty palace walls,
-    Me at midnight hour
-      In Dnieper’s flood she bathed;
-    And bathing, she murmured
-      Over little me:
-
-        “Swim, swim, little maid,
-        Adown the Dnieper water,
-        You’ll swim out a fairy
-        Next midnight, my daughter.
-        I go to dance with him,
-        My faithless lover;
-        You’ll come and lure him
-        Into the river.
-        No more shall he laugh at me,
-        At my tears out-flowing,
-        But o’er him the Dnieper
-        Its blue water is rolling.
-        Swim out, my only one,
-        He will come to dance with thee.
-        Waves, waves, little waves,
-          Greet ye the water fairy.”
-
-    Sadly she cried and ran away,
-    As I floated down the stream.
-    But sister fairies met me,
-    I grew as in a dream.
-    A week, and I dance at midnight,
-    And watch from the water pools.
-    What does my sinful mother?
-    Lives she still in shameful pleasure,
-    With him, the faithless lord?
-    Thus the fairy whispered,
-    Then like diving bird she dropped
-    Back in the stream,
-    And the willows bowed above her.
-
-    The mother comes to walk by the river side.
-    ’Tis weary in the palace,
-    And the lord is not at home.
-      She comes to the bank, thinks of her little one
-    Whom she plunged in with muttered charms.
-      What matters it? She would go back to the palace,
-    But no, hers is another fate.
-      She noticed not how the river maidens hastened
-    Till they caught her, and tickled her ’mid laughter.
-      Joyfully they caught her, and played and tickled her,
-    And put her in a basket net
-      (Unto her death).
-    And then they roared and laughed;
-    But one little fairy did not laugh.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-HYMN OF THE NUNS
-
-
-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.
-
-
-    Strike lightning above this house,
-    This house of God where we are dying,
-    Where we think lightly of Thee, God,
-    And, thinking lightly, sing
-            Hallelujah.
-
-    Were it not for Thee,
-            we had loved men;
-    Had courted and married,
-    Brought up children,
-    Taught them and sung
-            Hallelujah.
-
-    Thou hast cheated us,
-                poor wretches!
-    And we, defrauded and unlucky,
-    Ourselves have fooled Thee,
-    And howled and sung: Hallelujah.
-
-    With barber’s shears hast put us in this nunnery,
-    And we—young women still—
-    We dance and sing,
-    And singing say: Hallelujah.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-TO THE GODDESS OF FAME
-
-
-    Hail, thou barmaid slovenly,
-    Stagg’ring like fish-wife drunkenly;
-    Where the dickens dost thou stay,
-    With thy stock of haloes, pray?
-    Was it on credit thou gavest one
-    To the thief of Versailles, that Corsican?
-    Perhaps now thou’rt whispering in some fellow’s ear;
-    And all because of boredom or beer.
-
-    Come then awhile with me to lodge,
-    Fondly, together, trouble we’ll dodge.
-    With a smack and a kiss
-                This dreary weather,
-    Let’s make a bargain
-                to live together.
-    Thou’rt a painted queen
-                with manners free,
-    Yet in thy company
-                I’d gladly be.
-
-    What though thou holdest
-                thy nose in air,
-    Dancest in barrooms
-                with kings at a fair;
-    And most with that chap
-                they call the Tsar;
-    Still that’s no bother,
-                thy stock’s still at par.
-
-    Come, my dear, make haste to me,
-    Let me have a look at thee;
-    Bestow on me a little smile,
-    ’Neath thy bright wings
-                I’d rest a while.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-ICONOCLASM
-
-
-    Bright light, peaceful light,
-    Free light, light unbound!
-    What is this, brother light?
-    In thy warm home thou’rt found
-    By censers smoked,
-    By priests’ robes choked,
-    Fettered and fooled
-    And by Icons ruled.
-    Yield thee not in the fight,
-    Waken up, brother light!
-    Shed thy pure rays
-    On mankind’s ways.
-    All priestly robes in rags we’ll tear
-    And light our pipes from censers rare,
-    With Icons now the flames will roar,
-    With holy brooms we’ll sweep the floor.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-MY TESTAMENT
-
-
-    When I die, remember, lay me
-      Lowly in the silent tomb,
-    Where the prairie stretches free,
-      Sweet Ukraine, my cherished home.
-
-    There, ’mid meadows’ grassy sward,
-      Dnieper’s waters pouring
-    May be seen and may be heard,
-      Mighty in their roaring.
-
-    When from Ukraine waters bear
-      Rolling to the sea so far
-    Foeman’s blood, no longer there
-      Stay I where my ashes are.
-
-    Grass and hills I’ll leave and fly.
-      Unto throne of God I’ll go,
-    There in heaven to pray on high,
-      But, till then, no God I know.
-
-    Standing then about my grave,
-      Make ye haste, your fetters tear!
-    Sprinkled with the foeman’s blood
-      Then shall rise your freedom fair.
-
-    Then shall spring a kinship great,
-      This a family new and free.
-    Sometimes in your glorious state,
-      Gently, kindly, speak of me.
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
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-<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Kobzar of the Ukraine, by Taras Shevchenko</p>
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
-most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
-of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
-at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you
-are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the
-country where you are located before using this eBook.
-</div>
-
-<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Kobzar of the Ukraine</p>
-<p style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:1em;'>Being Select Poems of Taras Shevchenko</p>
-<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Taras Shevchenko</p>
-<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Translator: Alexander Jardine Hunter</p>
-<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 9, 2022 [eBook #68486]</p>
-<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p>
-  <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net/ for Project Gutenberg (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)</p>
-<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE KOBZAR OF THE UKRAINE ***</div>
-<div class="front">
-<div class="div1 cover"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure cover-imagewidth"><img src="images/front.jpg" alt="Original Front Cover." width="470" height="720"></div><p>
-</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="div1 frontispiece"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure frontispiecewidth"><img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" alt="Geometric design." width="510" height="679"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e134">[<a href="#xd31e134">1</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="div1 frenchtitle"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divBody">
-<p class="first center large">THE KOBZAR <br>OF THE UKRAINE
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e141">[<a href="#xd31e141">2</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="div1 frontispiece"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure portraitwidth"><img src="images/portrait.jpg" alt="Self-portrait of Taras Shevchenko." width="534" height="720"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e148">[<a href="#xd31e148">3</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="div1 titlepage"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure titlepage-imagewidth"><img src="images/titlepage.png" alt="Original Title Page." width="434" height="720"></div><p>
-</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="titlePage">
-<div class="docTitle">
-<div class="mainTitle">The Kobzar of the Ukraine</div>
-</div>
-<div class="byline">Being Select Poems of <br><span class="docAuthor">TARAS SHEVCHENKO</span>
-<br>Done into English Verse with Biographical Fragments by <br><span class="docAuthor">ALEXANDER JARDINE HUNTER</span> </div>
-<div class="docImprint">Printed in Winnipeg.
-<br>Published by Dr. A. J. Hunter, <br>Teulon, Man. </div>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e175">[<a href="#xd31e175">4</a>]</span></p>
-<div class="div1 copyright"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divBody">
-<p class="first center small">Copyright, Canada, 1922 <br>by Dr. A.&nbsp;J. Hunter, <br>Teulon, Man.
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e183">[<a href="#xd31e183">5</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="toc" class="div1 contents"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">Contents</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">Page</span>
-</p>
-<p><a href="#introduction" id="xd31e193">Introduction</a> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">9</span>
-</p>
-<p class="center"><b>POEMS.</b>
-</p>
-<p>BALLADS:
-</p>
-<table class="tocList">
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#monk" id="xd31e207">The Monk</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">13</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#hamaleia" id="xd31e214">Hamaleia</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">21</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#taras" id="xd31e221">The Night of Taras</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">30</td>
-</tr>
-</table><p>
-</p>
-<p>TALE:
-</p>
-<table class="tocList">
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#naimechka" id="xd31e232">Naimechka; or The Servant</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">39</td>
-</tr>
-</table><p>
-</p>
-<p>SOCIAL AND POLITICAL POETRY:
-</p>
-<table class="tocList">
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#caucasus" id="xd31e243">Caucasus</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">68</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#dead" id="xd31e250">To the Dead</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">81</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#dream" id="xd31e257">A Dream</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">96</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#bondwoman" id="xd31e264">The Bondwoman’s Dream</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">106</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#sentimental" id="xd31e271">To the Makers of Sentimental Idyls</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">109</td>
-</tr>
-</table><p>
-</p>
-<p>POEMS OF EXILE:
-</p>
-<table class="tocList">
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#exile" id="xd31e282">A Poem of Exile</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">114</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#memories" id="xd31e289">Memories of Freedom</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">120</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#memories2" id="xd31e296">Memories of <span class="corr" id="xd31e298" title="Not in source">an </span>Exile</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">123</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#death" id="xd31e305">Death of the Soul</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">124</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#hymn" id="xd31e312">Hymn of Exile</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">126</td>
-</tr>
-</table><p>
-</p>
-<p>RELIGIOUS POEMS:
-</p>
-<table class="tocList">
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#eleventh" id="xd31e323">On the 11th Psalm</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">130</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#prayer1" id="xd31e330">Prayers</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">132</td>
-</tr>
-</table><p>
-</p>
-<p>EARLY POEMS:
-</p>
-<table class="tocList">
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#mighty" id="xd31e341">Mighty Wind</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">136</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#fairy" id="xd31e348">The Water Fairy</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">138</td>
-</tr>
-</table><p>
-</p>
-<p>HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL:
-</p>
-<table class="tocList">
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#nuns" id="xd31e359">Hymn of the Nuns</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">140</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#goddess" id="xd31e366">To the Goddess of Fame</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">141</td>
-</tr>
-</table><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e373">[<a href="#xd31e373">6</a>]</span>
-</p>
-<p>PREDICTION AND FAREWELL:
-</p>
-<table class="tocList">
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#iconoclasm" id="xd31e380">Iconoclasm</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">143</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#testament" id="xd31e387">My Testament</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">144</td>
-</tr>
-</table><p>
-</p>
-<p class="center"><b>BIOGRAPHICAL FRAGMENTS.</b>
-</p>
-<table class="tocList">
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#who" id="xd31e400">Who Was Taras Shevchenko</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">11</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#cossacks" id="xd31e407">The Cossacks</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">19</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#kobzars" id="xd31e414">Kobzars</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">29</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#forming" id="xd31e421">The Forming of a Life</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">36</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#legacy" id="xd31e428">A Father’s Legacy</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">67</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#serfdom" id="xd31e435">The Meaning of Serfdom</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">79</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#freedom" id="xd31e442">Freedom and Friends</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">94</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#triumphal" id="xd31e449">A Triumphal March</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">103</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#autocrat" id="xd31e456">Autocrat Versus Poet</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">112</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#siberian" id="xd31e463">Siberian Exile</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">118</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocDivNum"></td>
-<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#returning" id="xd31e470">Returning Home</a> </td>
-<td class="tocPageNum">127</td>
-</tr>
-</table><p>
-</p>
-<p></p>
-<div class="figure p006width"><img src="images/p006.png" alt="House with melon and sunflower in garden." width="284" height="255"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e481">[<a href="#xd31e481">7</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="div1 note"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">Illustrations</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure o007-1width"><img src="images/o007-1.png" alt="Ornament." width="53" height="33"></div><p>
-</p>
-<p><i>The decorations and illustrations in this book are meant to show something of Ukrainian
-art.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>The artistic instincts of the peasant women find satisfaction largely in the working
-of embroidery, each district having its own characteristic types of design.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>One of Shevchenko’s favorite fancies was to compare his versification to the work
-of the girls and women embroidering their designs on their garments. He frequently
-speaks of himself as “embroidering verses.”</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>It is a favorite device of Ukrainian book-makers to decorate their pages with miniature
-landscapes and little figures.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>The frontispiece of the present work is a picture of Shevchenko in youth from an original
-painted by himself. On page 129 we see him as he looked after his return from exile.</i>
-</p>
-<p></p>
-<div class="figure o007-2width"><img src="images/o142.png" alt="Ornament." width="66" height="90"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e508">[<a href="#xd31e508">8</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="div1 biography large"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">LIFE</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure o008width"><img src="images/o008.png" alt="Ornament: dotted cross." width="54" height="38"></div><p>
-</p>
-<p>Born 1811, February 26.
-</p>
-<ul>
-<li>24 years a serf, </li>
-<li>9 years a freeman, </li>
-<li>10 years a prisoner in Siberia, </li>
-<li>3 1–2 years under police supervision. </li>
-</ul><p>
-</p>
-<p>Died 1861, February 26.
-</p>
-<p></p>
-<div class="figure p008width"><img src="images/p008.png" alt="Ornament: cither." width="200" height="62"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e529">[<a href="#xd31e529">9</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="introduction" class="div1 introduction"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e193">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<div class="figure"><img src="images/o009.jpg" alt="INTRODUCTION." width="653" height="240"></div>
-<h2 class="main">INTRODUCTION.</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"><i>Nearly twenty years ago the translator of these poems was sent by the Presbyterian
-church as a medical missionary to a newly settled district in Manitoba. A very large
-proportion of the incoming settlers in this district were Ukrainians, indeed it was
-largely owing to the interest taken in these newcomers that the writer was sent there.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>It was Mr. John Bodrug who first, introduced him to the study of the poems of Shevchenko
-and with his help translations of three or four of the poems were made a dozen years
-ago. Press of other work prevented the following up of this study till last summer
-when with the help of Mr. Sigmund Bychinsky translations were made of the other poems
-here given, and considerable time spent in arriving at an understanding of the spirit
-of the poems and the nature of the situations described. Then the more formidable
-task was approached of trying to carry over not only the thought but something <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e541">[<a href="#xd31e541">10</a>]</span>of the style, spirit and music of the original into the English tongue.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>The spirit of Shevchenko was too independent to suffer him to be much bound by narrow
-rules of metre and rhyme. The translator has found the same attitude convenient, for
-when the versification may be varied as desired it is much easier to preserve the
-original thoughts intact.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>The writer’s thanks are due for help and advice to Messrs. Arsenych, Woicenko, Rudachek,
-Ferley, Sluzar and Stechyshyn and especially to Mrs. Bychinsky and for help with the
-manuscript to Miss Sara Livingstone.</i>
-</p>
-<p class="signed"><i>A.&nbsp;J. H.</i>
-</p>
-<p></p>
-<div class="figure p010width"><img src="images/p010.png" alt="Rural landscape." width="215" height="155"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e557">[<a href="#xd31e557">11</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="who" class="div1 last-child introduction"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e400">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">Who was Taras Shevchenko?</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure o011width"><img src="images/o011.png" alt="Ornament." width="116" height="21"></div><p>
-</p>
-<p><i>How many English-speaking people have heard of Taras Shevchenko?</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>What “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” did for the negroes of the United States of America the poems
-of Shevchenko did for the serfs of Russia. They aroused the conscience of the Russian
-people, and the persecutions suffered by the poet at the hands of the autocracy awakened
-their sympathy.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>It was two days after the death of Shevchenko that the czar’s ukase appeared granting
-freedom to the serfs. Possibly the dying poet knew it was coming and died the happier
-on that account.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>But in still another way does this man’s figure stand out. In the country called the
-Ukraine is a nation of between thirty and forty millions of people, having a language
-of their own—the language in which these poems were composed.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>This has been, as it were, a nation lost, buried alive one might say, beneath the
-power of surrounding empires.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>They have a terrible history of oppression, alternating with desperate revolts <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e583">[<a href="#xd31e583">12</a>]</span>against Polish and Muscovite tyranny.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>In these poems speaks the struggling soul of a downtrodden people. To our western
-folk, reared in happier surroundings there is a bitter tang about some of them, somewhat
-like the taste of olives, to which one must grow accustomed. The Slavonic temperament,
-too, is given to melancholy and seems to dwell congenially in an atmosphere misty
-with tears. But he gravely misreads their literature who fails to perceive the grim
-resolve beneath the sorrow.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>In the struggle of the Ukrainians for freedom the spirit of this poet, who was born
-a serf, remains ever their guiding star.</i>
-</p>
-<p></p>
-<div class="figure p012width"><img src="images/p012.png" alt="Well with bucket." width="205" height="182"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e596">[<a href="#xd31e596">13</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="body">
-<div id="monk" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e207">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">The Monk</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure o013width"><img src="images/o013.png" alt="Ornament." width="91" height="20"></div><p>
-</p>
-<p><i>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.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>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.</i>
-</p>
-<p></p>
-<div class="figure p013width"><img src="images/p013.png" alt="Orthodox church with trees." width="260" height="206"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e615">[<a href="#xd31e615">14</a>]</span></p>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">At Kiev, in the low countrie, </p>
-<p class="line">Things happened once that you’ll never see. </p>
-<p class="line">For evermore, ’twas done; </p>
-<p class="line">Nevermore, ’twill come. </p>
-<p class="line">Yet I, my brother, </p>
-<p class="line">Will with hope foregather, </p>
-<p class="line">That this again I’ll see, </p>
-<p class="line">Though grief it brings to me. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">To Kiev in the low countrie </p>
-<p class="line">Came our brotherhood so free. </p>
-<p class="line">Nor slave nor lord have they, </p>
-<p class="line">But all in noble garb so gay </p>
-<p class="line">Came splashing forth in mood full glad </p>
-<p class="line">With velvet coats the streets are clad. </p>
-<p class="line">They swagger in silken garments pride </p>
-<p class="line">And they for no one turn aside. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">In Kiev, in the low countrie, </p>
-<p class="line">All the cossacks dance in glee, </p>
-<p class="line">Just like water in pails and tubs </p>
-<p class="line">Wine pours out ’mid great hubbubs. </p>
-<p class="line">Wine cellars and bars </p>
-<p class="line in8">with all the barmaids </p>
-<p class="line">The cossacks have bought </p>
-<p class="line in8">with their wines and meads. </p>
-<p class="line">With their heels they stamp </p>
-<p class="line in4">And dancing tramp, </p>
-<p class="line">While the music roars </p>
-<p class="line in4">And joyously soars. </p>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e653">[<a href="#xd31e653">15</a>]</span></p>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">The people gaze </p>
-<p class="line in8">with gladsome eyes, </p>
-<p class="line">While scholars of the cloister schools </p>
-<p class="line">All in silence bred by rules, </p>
-<p class="line">Look on with wondering surprise. </p>
-<p class="line">Unhappy scholars! Were they free, </p>
-<p class="line">They would cossacks dancing be. </p>
-<p class="line">Who is this by musicians surrounded </p>
-<p class="line">To whom the people give fame unbounded? </p>
-<p class="line">In trousers of velvet red, </p>
-<p class="line">With a coat that sweeps the road </p>
-<p class="line">A cossack comes. Let’s weep o’er his years </p>
-<p class="line">For what they’ve done is cause for tears. </p>
-<p class="line">But there’s life in the old man yet I trust, </p>
-<p class="line">For with dancing kicks </p>
-<p class="line in8">he spurns the dust. </p>
-<p class="line">In his short time left with men to mingle </p>
-<p class="line">The cossack sings, </p>
-<p class="line in8">this tipsy jingle. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in4">“On the road is a crab, crab, crab. </p>
-<p class="line in4">Let us catch it grab, grab, grab. </p>
-<p class="line in4">Girls are sewing jab, jab, jab. </p>
-<p class="line in4">Let’s dance on trouble, </p>
-<p class="line in4">Dance on it double </p>
-<p class="line in4">Then on we’ll bubble </p>
-<p class="line in4">Already this trouble </p>
-<p class="line in4"><span class="corr" id="xd31e694" title="Source: We-ve">We’ve</span> danced on double </p>
-<p class="line in4">So let’s dance on trouble. </p>
-<p class="line in4">Dance on it double, </p>
-<p class="line in4">Then on we’ll bubble.” </p>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e703">[<a href="#xd31e703">16</a>]</span></p>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">To the Cloister of our Saviour </p>
-<p class="line">Old gray-hair dancing goes. </p>
-<p class="line">After him his joyous crowd </p>
-<p class="line">And all the folk of Kiev so proud. </p>
-<p class="line">Dances he up to the doors— </p>
-<p class="line">“Hoo-hoo! Hoo-hoo!” he roars. </p>
-<p class="line">Ye holy monks give greeting </p>
-<p class="line">A comrade from the prairie meeting. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in4">Opens the sacred door, </p>
-<p class="line in4">The Cossack enters in. </p>
-<p class="line in4">Again the portal closes </p>
-<p class="line in4">To open no more for him. </p>
-<p class="line in4">What a man was there </p>
-<p class="line in12">this old gray-hair, </p>
-<p class="line in4">Who said to the world farewell? </p>
-<p class="line in4">’Twas Semon Palee, </p>
-<p class="line in12">a cossack free </p>
-<p class="line in4">Whom trouble could not quell. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Oh in the East the sun climbs high </p>
-<p class="line">And sets again in the western sky. </p>
-<p class="line">In narrow cell in monkish gown </p>
-<p class="line">Tramps an old man up and down, </p>
-<p class="line">Then climbs the highest turret there </p>
-<p class="line">To feast his eyes on Kiev so fair. </p>
-<p class="line">And sitting on the parapet </p>
-<p class="line">He yields a while to fond regret. </p>
-<p class="line">Anon he goes to the woodland spring, </p>
-<p class="line">The belfry near, where sweet bells ring. </p>
-<p class="line">The cooling draught to his mind recalls <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e747">[<a href="#xd31e747">17</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">How hard was life without the walls. </p>
-<p class="line">Again the monk his cell floor paces </p>
-<p class="line">’Mid the silent walls his life retraces. </p>
-<p class="line">The sacred book he holds in hand </p>
-<p class="line">And loudly reads, </p>
-<p class="line">The old man’s mind to Cossack land </p>
-<p class="line">Swiftly speeds. </p>
-<p class="line">Now holy words do fade away, </p>
-<p class="line">The monkish cell turns Cossack den, </p>
-<p class="line">The glorious brotherhood lives again. </p>
-<p class="line">The gray old captain, like an owl </p>
-<p class="line">Peers beneath the monkish cowl. </p>
-<p class="line">Music, dances, the city’s calls, </p>
-<p class="line">Rattling fetters, Moscow’s walls, </p>
-<p class="line">O’er woods and snows </p>
-<p class="line in8">his eyes can see </p>
-<p class="line">The banks of distant Yenisee. </p>
-<p class="line">Upon his soul deep gloom has crept </p>
-<p class="line">And thus the monk in sadness wept. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in4">Down, Down! Bow thy head; </p>
-<p class="line in4">On thy fleshly cravings tread. </p>
-<p class="line in4">In the sacred writings read </p>
-<p class="line in4">Read, read, to the bell give heed, </p>
-<p class="line in4">Thy heart too long has ruled thee, </p>
-<p class="line in4">All thy life it’s fooled thee. </p>
-<p class="line in4">Thy heart to exile led thee, </p>
-<p class="line in4">Now let it silent be. </p>
-<p class="line in4">As all things pass away, </p>
-<p class="line in4">So thou shalt pass away. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e792">[<a href="#xd31e792">18</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line in4">Thus may’st thou know thy lot, </p>
-<p class="line in4">Mankind remembers not. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Though groans the old man’s sadness tell. </p>
-<p class="line">Upon his book he quickly fell, </p>
-<p class="line">And tramped and tramped about his cell. </p>
-<p class="line">He sits again in mood forlorn </p>
-<p class="line">Wonders why he e’er was born. </p>
-<p class="line">One thing alone he fain would tell. </p>
-<p class="line">He loves his Ukraina well. </p>
-<p class="line in8">For Matins now </p>
-<p class="line in14">the great bell booms. </p>
-<p class="line in8">The aged monk </p>
-<p class="line in14">his cowl resumes. </p>
-<p class="line in8">For Ukraina now to pray </p>
-<p class="line in8">My good old Palee limps away. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure p018width"><img src="images/p018.png" alt="Standing Cossack with long rifle." width="228" height="377"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e825">[<a href="#xd31e825">19</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="cossacks" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e407">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">The Cossacks</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure o019width"><img src="images/o013.png" alt="Ornament." width="91" height="20"></div><p>
-</p>
-<p><i>Back somewhere in the middle distance of European history—when the Ukraine was under
-Polish rule, though ever harrassed by the devastating raids of Turks and Tartars—there
-developed bands of guerilla fighters in the wild border-land beyond the rapids of
-the Dnieper.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>Sometimes fighting against the Tartars, sometimes in alliance with them, they became
-known by the name ‘Kazak,’ a word of uncertain origin.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>Fierce banditti they were, many of them serfs who had run away from their Polish masters.
-But they often developed great military power. At times the Poles succeeded in securing
-numbers of them as fighters in their army, but when the tyranny of the Polish landlords
-became intolerable the so-called “Registered Cossacks” would sometimes join with the
-“Free Cossacks” of the “border land”—which is the meaning of the word “Ukraine,” and
-exact terrible vengeance on the Poles.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>The story of these warlike deeds of the Cossacks has the same significance to the
-Ukrainian people that the tales of Wallace and Bruce have for Scotchmen.</i>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e845">[<a href="#xd31e845">20</a>]</span>
-</p>
-<div class="figure p020width"><img src="images/p020.jpg" alt="Cossacks Dictating a Saucy Letter to the Turkish Sultan." width="720" height="423"><p class="figureHead">Cossacks Dictating a Saucy Letter to the Turkish Sultan.</p>
-</div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e850">[<a href="#xd31e850">21</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="hamaleia" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e214">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">Hamaleia</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"><i>Hamaleia is an historical romance. The poet represents one of the excursions of the
-Zaparoggian Cossacks under the <span class="corr" id="xd31e857" title="Source: leader-">leadership</span> of Hamaleia on Skutari, the Turkish city on the <span class="corr" id="xd31e860" title="Source: Bosphorns">Bosphorus</span>. 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.</i>
-</p>
-<p></p>
-<div class="figure p021width"><img src="images/p021.png" alt="Farmer’s couple at fence." width="178" height="142"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e868">[<a href="#xd31e868">22</a>]</span></p>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in2">“Oh breeze there is none, </p>
-<p class="line in2">Nor do the waters run </p>
-<p class="line in2">From our Ukraina’s land. </p>
-<p class="line in2">Perhaps, in council there they stand, </p>
-<p class="line in2">To march against the Turk demand. </p>
-<p class="line in2">We hear not in this foreign land. </p>
-<p class="line in2">Blow winds, blow across the sea, </p>
-<p class="line in2">Bring tidings of our land so free, </p>
-<p class="line in2">Come from Dnieper’s Delta low, </p>
-<p class="line in2">Dry our tears and chase away our woe. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in2">Roar in play thou sea so blue. </p>
-<p class="line in2">In yon boats are Cossacks true, </p>
-<p class="line in2">Their caps above are dimly seen. </p>
-<p class="line in2">Rescue for us this may mean. </p>
-<p class="line in2">Once more we’ll hear Ukraina’s story. </p>
-<p class="line in2">Once more the ancient Cossack glory </p>
-<p class="line in2">We’ll hear before we die.” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">So in Skutari the Cossacks sang, </p>
-<p class="line">Their tears rolled down, their wailing rang </p>
-<p class="line">Bosphorus groaned at the Cossack cry. </p>
-<p class="line">And then he raised his waves on high. </p>
-<p class="line">And shivering like a great grey bull, </p>
-<p class="line">His waters roaring far and full </p>
-<p class="line">Into the Black Sea’s ribs were hurled. </p>
-<p class="line">The sea sent on great Bosphorus’ cry, </p>
-<p class="line">To where the sands of the Delta lie, </p>
-<p class="line">And then the waters of Dnieper pale </p>
-<p class="line">In turn took up the mournful tale. </p>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e918">[<a href="#xd31e918">23</a>]</span></p>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">The father Dnieper rears his crest, </p>
-<p class="line">Shakes the foam from off his breast. </p>
-<p class="line">With laughter now aloud he calls </p>
-<p class="line">To spirits of the forest walls. </p>
-<p class="line">“Hortessa sister river, deep, </p>
-<p class="line">Time it is to wake from sleep. </p>
-<p class="line">Brother forest, sister river, </p>
-<p class="line">Come our children to deliver.” </p>
-<p class="line">And now the Dnieper is clad with boats, </p>
-<p class="line">The Cossack song o’er the water floats. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in6">“In Turkey over there, </p>
-<p class="line in6">Are wealth and riches rare. </p>
-<p class="line in6">Hey, hey, blue sea play. </p>
-<p class="line in6">Then roar upon the shore, </p>
-<p class="line in6">Bringing with you guests so gay. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in6">“This Turkey has in her pockets </p>
-<p class="line in6">Dollars and ducats. </p>
-<p class="line in6">We don’t come pockets to pick, </p>
-<p class="line in6">Fire and sword will do the trick. </p>
-<p class="line in6">We mean to free our brothers. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in6">“There the janissary crouches, </p>
-<p class="line in6">There are pashas on soft couches. </p>
-<p class="line in6">Hey-ho, foemen ware, </p>
-<p class="line in6">For nothing do we care, </p>
-<p class="line in6">Ours are liberty and glory.” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in4">On they sail a-singing </p>
-<p class="line in4">The sea to the wind gives heed, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e968">[<a href="#xd31e968">24</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line in4">In foremost boat the helm a-guiding, </p>
-<p class="line in4">Brave Hamaleia takes the lead. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in4">“Oh, Hamaleia, our hearts are fainting, </p>
-<p class="line in4">Behold the sea in madness raving.” </p>
-<p class="line in4">“Don’t fear,” he says, “these spurting fountains, </p>
-<p class="line in4">We’ll hide behind the water mountains.” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">All slumber in the harem, </p>
-<p class="line">Byzantium’s paradise. </p>
-<p class="line">Skutari sleeps, but Bosphorus </p>
-<p class="line">In madness shouts, “Arise! </p>
-<p class="line">Awake Byzantium!” it roars and groans. </p>
-<p class="line">“Awake them not, Oh Bosphorus.” </p>
-<p class="line">Replies the sea in thunder tones. </p>
-<p class="line">“If thou dost I’ll fill thy ribs with sand, </p>
-<p class="line">Bury thee in mud, change thee to solid land. </p>
-<p class="line">Perhaps thou knowest not the guest </p>
-<p class="line">I bring to break the sultan’s rest.” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">So the sea insisted, </p>
-<p class="line">For he loved the brave Slavonic band; </p>
-<p class="line">And Bosphorus desisted, </p>
-<p class="line">While in slumber lay the Turkish land. </p>
-<p class="line">The lazy Sultan in his harem slept, </p>
-<p class="line">But only in Skutari the weary pris’ners wept. </p>
-<p class="line">For something are they waiting, </p>
-<p class="line">To God from dungeon praying, </p>
-<p class="line">While the waves go roaring by. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">“Oh, loved God of Ukraine’s land, </p>
-<p class="line">To us in prison stretch thy hand; <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1010">[<a href="#xd31e1010">25</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">Slaves are we a Cossack band. </p>
-<p class="line">Shame it is now in truth to say, </p>
-<p class="line">Shame it will be at <span class="corr" id="xd31e1016" title="Source: judgement">judgment</span> day </p>
-<p class="line">For us from foreign tomb to rise, </p>
-<p class="line">And at thy court, to the world’s surprise </p>
-<p class="line">Show Cossack hands in chains.” </p>
-<p class="line in14">“Strike and kill, </p>
-<p class="line">Now the infidels will get their fill </p>
-<p class="line">Death to the unbelievers all.” </p>
-<p class="line">How they scream beyond the wall! </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">They’ve heard of Hamaleia’s fame, </p>
-<p class="line">Skutari maddens at his name. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">“Strike on,” he shouts, “kill and slay </p>
-<p class="line">To the castle break your way.” </p>
-<p class="line">All the guns of Skutari roar </p>
-<p class="line">The foes in frenzy onward pour, </p>
-<p class="line">The cossacks rush with panting breath </p>
-<p class="line">The janissaries fall in death. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in4">Hamaleia in Skutari </p>
-<p class="line in4">Dances through the flames in glee. </p>
-<p class="line in4">To the jail his way he makes, </p>
-<p class="line in4">Through the prison doors he breaks. </p>
-<p class="line in4">Off the feet the fetters takes. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in4">“Fly away my birds so gray, </p>
-<p class="line in4">In the town to share the prey.” </p>
-<p class="line in4">But the falcons trembled </p>
-<p class="line in4">Nor their fears dessembled <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1058">[<a href="#xd31e1058">26</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line in4">So long they had not heard </p>
-<p class="line in4">A single christian word. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in4">Night herself was frightened. </p>
-<p class="line in4">No flames her darkness lightened. </p>
-<p class="line in4">The old mother could not see </p>
-<p class="line in4">How the Cossacks pay their fee. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in4">“Fear not! Look ahead, </p>
-<p class="line in4">To the Cossack banquet spread. </p>
-<p class="line in4">Dark over all, like a common day, </p>
-<p class="line in4">And this no little holiday.” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in4">“No sneak thieves with Hamaleia, </p>
-<p class="line in4">To eat their bacon silently </p>
-<p class="line in4">Without a frying pan.” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in4">“Let’s have a light,” </p>
-<p class="line in4">Now burning bright </p>
-<p class="line in4">To heaven flames Skutari, </p>
-<p class="line in4">With all its ruined navy. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Byzantium awakes, its eyes it opens wide </p>
-<p class="line">With grinding teeth hastes to its </p>
-<p class="line in8">comrade’s side, </p>
-<p class="line">Byzantium roars and rages, </p>
-<p class="line">With hands to the shore it reaches, </p>
-<p class="line">From waters gasping strives to rise, </p>
-<p class="line">And then with sword in heart it dies. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">With fires of hell Skutari’s burning, </p>
-<p class="line">Bazaars with streams of blood are churning <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1112">[<a href="#xd31e1112">27</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">Broad Bosphorus pours in its waves. </p>
-<p class="line">Like blackbirds in a bush </p>
-<p class="line">The Cossacks fiercely rush. </p>
-<p class="line">No living soul escapes. </p>
-<p class="line">Untouched by fire, </p>
-<p class="line">They the walls down tear, </p>
-<p class="line">Silver and gold in their caps they bear, </p>
-<p class="line">And load their boats with riches rare. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Burns Skutari, ends the fray, </p>
-<p class="line">The warriors gather and come away, </p>
-<p class="line">Their pipes with burning cinders light, </p>
-<p class="line">And row their boats through waves flame </p>
-<p class="line in8">bright. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure p027width"><img src="images/p027.png" alt="Three persons resting in field." width="293" height="152"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1133">[<a href="#xd31e1133">28</a>]</span>
-</p>
-<p></p>
-<div class="figure p028width"><img src="images/p028.jpg" alt="A kobzar sitting in a field while playing cither." width="720" height="453"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1139">[<a href="#xd31e1139">29</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="kobzars" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e414">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">Kobzars</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"><i>These are the wandering minstrels of the Ukraine.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>They play on an instrument called the Kobza which somewhat resembles a mandolin. Often
-in former days they were old prisoners of war—too old to work—so their Turkish captors
-first blinded them and then set them at liberty.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>Wandering among the villages, guided by some little boy, they earned their bread by
-singing folk-songs and hero-tales to the accompaniment of the Kobza.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>Shevchenko published his book of poems with the title “Kobzar.”</i>
-</p>
-<p></p>
-<div class="figure p029width"><img src="images/p029.png" alt="Blind man guided by a boy." width="241" height="193"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1159">[<a href="#xd31e1159">30</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="taras" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e221">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<div class="figure"><img src="images/o030.png" alt="The Night of Taras" width="626" height="154"></div>
-<h2 class="main">The Night of Taras</h2>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">By the road the Kobzar sat </p>
-<p class="line">And on his kobza played. </p>
-<p class="line">Around him youths and maidens </p>
-<p class="line">Like poppy flowers arrayed. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">So the Kobzar played and sang </p>
-<p class="line">Of many an old old story; </p>
-<p class="line">Of wars with Russian, Pole and Tartar </p>
-<p class="line">And the ancient Cossack glory. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">He sang of the wars of Taras brave, </p>
-<p class="line">Of battle fought in the morning early, </p>
-<p class="line">Of the fallen Cossack’s grass-grown grave </p>
-<p class="line">Till smiles and tears did mingle fairly. </p>
-</div>
-<hr class="tb">
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">“Once on a time the Hetmans ruled, </p>
-<p class="line in4">It comes not back again; </p>
-<p class="line">In olden days we masters were </p>
-<p class="line in4">This never comes again. </p>
-<p class="line">These glories of old Cossack lore </p>
-<p class="line">Shall be forgotten nevermore. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in4">Ukraine, Ukraine! </p>
-<p class="line in4">Mother mine. Mother mine! <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1195">[<a href="#xd31e1195">31</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line in4">When I remember thee </p>
-<p class="line in4">How mournful should I be. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">What has come of our Cossacks bold </p>
-<p class="line in4">With coats of velvet red? </p>
-<p class="line">What of freedom by fate foretold, </p>
-<p class="line in4">And banners the Hetmans led? </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in4">Whither is it gone? </p>
-<p class="line in4">In flames it went: </p>
-<p class="line">O’er hills and tombs, </p>
-<p class="line in4">The floods were sent. </p>
-<p class="line">The hills are wrapt </p>
-<p class="line in6">in silence grim, </p>
-<p class="line">On boundless sea </p>
-<p class="line in6">waves ever play; </p>
-<p class="line">The tombs gleam forth </p>
-<p class="line in6">with sadness dim; </p>
-<p class="line">O’er all the land </p>
-<p class="line in6">the foe holds sway. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Play on, oh sea, </p>
-<p class="line in4">Hills silent be: </p>
-<p class="line">Dance, mighty wind, </p>
-<p class="line in4">O’er all the land. </p>
-<p class="line">Weep, Cossack youth, </p>
-<p class="line in4">Your fate withstand. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Now who shall our adviser be? </p>
-<p class="line">Then out spake Naleweiko, </p>
-<p class="line">A Cossack bold was he, </p>
-<p class="line">After him Paulioha </p>
-<p class="line">Like falcon swift did flee<span class="corr" id="xd31e1246" title="Not in source">.</span> </p>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1248">[<a href="#xd31e1248">32</a>]</span></p>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Out spake Taras Traselo </p>
-<p class="line">With bitter words and true, </p>
-<p class="line">“That they trampled on Ukraina </p>
-<p class="line">For sure the Poles shall rue.” </p>
-<p class="line">Out spake Taras Traselo, </p>
-<p class="line">Out spake the eagle grey. </p>
-<p class="line">Rescue for the faith he wrought, </p>
-<p class="line">Well indeed the Poles he taught. </p>
-<p class="line">“Let’s make an end of our woe. </p>
-<p class="line">An end come now to your woe, </p>
-<p class="line">Arise, my gentle comrades, all </p>
-<p class="line">Upon the Poles with blows we’ll fall.” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Three days of war </p>
-<p class="line in8">did the land deliver. </p>
-<p class="line">From the Delta’s shore </p>
-<p class="line in8">to Trubail’s river. </p>
-<p class="line">The fields are covered </p>
-<p class="line in8">with dead, in course, </p>
-<p class="line">But weary now </p>
-<p class="line in8">is the Cossack force. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Now the dirty Polish ruler </p>
-<p class="line">Was feeling very jolly, </p>
-<p class="line">Gathered all his lords together, </p>
-<p class="line">For a time of feast and folly. </p>
-<p class="line">Taras did his Cossacks gather </p>
-<p class="line">To have a little talk together. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in4">“Captains and comrades, </p>
-<p class="line">My children and brothers, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1289">[<a href="#xd31e1289">33</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">What are we now to do? </p>
-<p class="line">Our hated foes are feasting, </p>
-<p class="line">I want advice from you.” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">“Let them feast away, </p>
-<p class="line in4">It’s fine for their health. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">When the sun descends, </p>
-<p class="line">Old night her counsel lends; </p>
-<p class="line">The Cossacks’ll catch them, </p>
-<p class="line in6">and all of their wealth.” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">The sun reclined beyond the hill </p>
-<p class="line">The stars shone out in silence still, </p>
-<p class="line">Around the Poles the Cossack host </p>
-<p class="line">Was gathering like a cloud; </p>
-<p class="line">So soon the moon stood in the sky </p>
-<p class="line">When roared the cannon loud. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Woke up the Polish lordlings, </p>
-<p class="line">To run they found no place. </p>
-<p class="line">Woke up the Polish lordlings, </p>
-<p class="line">The foe they could not face. </p>
-<p class="line">The sun beheld the Polish lordlings, </p>
-<p class="line">In heaps all o’er the place. </p>
-<p class="line">With red serpent on the water, </p>
-<p class="line">River Alta brings the word— </p>
-<p class="line">That black vultures after slaughter </p>
-<p class="line">May feast on many a Polish lord. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">And now the vultures hasten </p>
-<p class="line">The mighty dead to waken<span class="corr" id="xd31e1326" title="Not in source">.</span> <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1328">[<a href="#xd31e1328">34</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">Together the Cossacks gather </p>
-<p class="line">Praise to God to offer. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">While black vultures scream, </p>
-<p class="line">O’er the corpses fight. </p>
-<p class="line">Then the Cossacks sing </p>
-<p class="line">A hymn to the night; </p>
-<p class="line">That night of famous story </p>
-<p class="line">Full of blood and glory. </p>
-<p class="line">That night that put the Poles to sleep </p>
-<p class="line">The while on them their foes did creep. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Beyond the stream </p>
-<p class="line in8">in open field </p>
-<p class="line">A burial mound </p>
-<p class="line in8">gleams darkly: </p>
-<p class="line">Where the Cossack blood was shed </p>
-<p class="line">There grows the grass full greenly. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">On the tomb a raven sits: </p>
-<p class="line">With hunger sore he’s screaming. </p>
-<p class="line">Waiting near a Cossack weeps: </p>
-<p class="line">Of days of old he’s dreaming.” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">The Kobzar ceased in sadness </p>
-<p class="line">His hands would no longer play: </p>
-<p class="line">Around him youths and maidens </p>
-<p class="line">Were wiping the tears away. </p>
-<p class="line">By the path the Kobzar makes his way, </p>
-<p class="line">To get rid of his grief he starts to play. </p>
-<p class="line">And now the youngsters are dancing gay, </p>
-<p class="line">And then he <span class="sic" title="Correction: opens">opes</span> his lips to say: </p>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1369">[<a href="#xd31e1369">35</a>]</span></p>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">“Skip off, my children, </p>
-<p class="line">To some nice warm corner, </p>
-<p class="line">Of griefs enough; </p>
-<p class="line">I’ll no longer be mourner. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">To the bar I’ll go </p>
-<p class="line in8">and find my good wife </p>
-<p class="line">And there we’ll have </p>
-<p class="line in8">the time of our life. </p>
-<p class="line">For so we’ll drink away our woes </p>
-<p class="line">And make no end of fun of our foes.” </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure p035width"><img src="images/p035.png" alt="Magpie." width="489" height="341"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1388">[<a href="#xd31e1388">36</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="forming" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e421">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<div class="figure"><img src="images/o103.png" alt="The Forming of a Life" width="615" height="159"></div>
-<h2 class="main">The Forming of a Life</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"><i>The little Taras was born a serf. His first memories are of a mother’s love, of the
-kindness of an elder sister, and like a musical undertone to all his life—the consciousness
-of the wonderful beauty of Nature.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>But soon another power of hideous aspect laid its grasp on the childish soul. It was
-the knowledge of slavery, a grim and horrible thing that was slowly but surely grinding
-out the lives of his parents, and that would surely, later, reach out for his own.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>Yet even the system of serfdom may allow a little happiness to a child, still too
-young to work.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>The little boy had been told that beyond the distant hills were iron pillars holding
-up the sky. At five years of age he set out to find these pillars. Some teamsters
-found him wandering on the steppe and brought him back to his home. But this incident
-marked the character of the boy as an idealist and a dreamer.</i>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1405">[<a href="#xd31e1405">37</a>]</span></p>
-<p><i>Then there was Grandfather John, the brave old man who, half a century before, had
-fought in the ranks of the Haidemaki who so nearly broke the Polish power. On a Sunday
-the wondering family would listen to the mighty voice ringing out in the little home—telling
-of ancient battles for freedom.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>When Taras was seven years of age he lost his mother. His father was left with six
-children, and thought to improve matters by marrying a widow with three. Thereafter
-the miseries increased for little Taras who was hated by his stepmother.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>The father lived a few years longer, and to him Taras owed the knowledge of reading,
-for though they were serfs and lived in a wretched hovel, the Shevchenko’s prided
-themselves on having retained some elements of culture.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>Our little hero, however, had a strange passion for drawing and painting and also
-for singing, and found some employment among the drunken painters, and church-singers
-of the village.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>Later his master tried to make him work, but found the lad hopeless for anything but
-his beloved painting. Finally, he reached Petrograd in the suite of his master’s son,
-where he was apprenticed to a decorator.</i>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1421">[<a href="#xd31e1421">38</a>]</span></p>
-<p><i>A famous man came upon a ragged boy sitting on a pail, in the Royal Gardens, in the
-moonlight, drawing a picture of a statue there. This was the beginning of a period
-of good fortune. The lad was introduced to some of the great men of the capital. His
-genius was recognized. A famous painter painted a picture that was raffled off for
-sufficient money to purchase the boy’s freedom, and he was entered as a student in
-the Academy.</i>
-</p>
-<p></p>
-<div class="figure p038width"><img src="images/p038.png" alt="Old man and boy sitting." width="324" height="357"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1430">[<a href="#xd31e1430">39</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="naimechka" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e232">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<div class="figure"><img src="images/o079.png" alt="Naimechka or The Servant" width="631" height="175"></div>
-<h2 class="main">Naimechka or The Servant</h2>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<h4>Prologue.</h4>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">On a Sunday, very early, </p>
-<p class="line">When fields were clad with mist </p>
-<p class="line">A woman’s form was bending </p>
-<p class="line">’Mid graves by cloud wreaths kissed. </p>
-<p class="line">Something to her heart she pressed, </p>
-<p class="line">In accents low the clouds addressed. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">“Oh, you mist and raindrops fine, </p>
-<p class="line">Pity this ragged luck of mine. </p>
-<p class="line">Hide me here in grassy meadows, </p>
-<p class="line">Bury me beneath thy shadows. </p>
-<p class="line">Why must I ’mid sorrows stray? </p>
-<p class="line">Pray take them with my life away. </p>
-<p class="line">In gloomy death would be relief, </p>
-<p class="line">Where none might know or see my grief. </p>
-<p class="line">Yet not alone my life was spent, </p>
-<p class="line">A father and mother my sin lament. </p>
-<p class="line">Nor yet alone is my course to run </p>
-<p class="line">For in my arms is my little son. </p>
-<p class="line">Shall I, then, give to him christian name, </p>
-<p class="line">To poverty bind, with his mother’s shame? <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1461">[<a href="#xd31e1461">40</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">This, brother mist, I shall not do. </p>
-<p class="line">I alone my fault must rue. </p>
-<p class="line">Thee, sweet son, shall strangers christen, </p>
-<p class="line">Thy mother’s eyes with teardrops glisten. </p>
-<p class="line">Thy very name I may not know </p>
-<p class="line">As on through life I lonely go. </p>
-<p class="line">I, by my sin, rich fortune lost, </p>
-<p class="line">With thee, my son, to ill fate, was tossed. </p>
-<p class="line">Yet curse me not, </p>
-<p class="line in8">for evils past. </p>
-<p class="line">My prayers to heaven </p>
-<p class="line in8">shall reach at last. </p>
-<p class="line">The skies above </p>
-<p class="line in8">to my tears shall bend, </p>
-<p class="line">Another fortune to thee I’ll send.” </p>
-<p class="line">Through the fields she sobbing went. </p>
-<p class="line">The gentle mist </p>
-<p class="line in8">its shelter lent. </p>
-<p class="line">Her tears were falling </p>
-<p class="line in8">the path along, </p>
-<p class="line">As she softly sang </p>
-<p class="line in8">the widows song: </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">“Oh, in the field there is a grave </p>
-<p class="line">Where the shining grasses wave; </p>
-<p class="line">There the widow walked apart, </p>
-<p class="line">Bitter sorrow in her heart. </p>
-<p class="line">Poison herbs in vain she sought, </p>
-<p class="line">Whereby evil spells are wrought. </p>
-<p class="line">Two little sons </p>
-<p class="line in8">in arms she bore <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1503">[<a href="#xd31e1503">41</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">Wrapped around in </p>
-<p class="line in8">dress she wore; </p>
-<p class="line">Her children to the river carried, </p>
-<p class="line">In converse with the water tarried; </p>
-<p class="line">‘Oh, river Dunai, gentle river, </p>
-<p class="line">I my sons to thee deliver, </p>
-<p class="line">Thou’lt swaddle them </p>
-<p class="line in8">and wrap them, </p>
-<p class="line">Thy little waves </p>
-<p class="line in8">will lap them, </p>
-<p class="line">Thy yellow sands </p>
-<p class="line in8">will cherish them, </p>
-<p class="line">Thy flowing waters </p>
-<p class="line in8">nourish them.’ </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure o041width"><img src="images/o041.png" alt="Ornament." width="93" height="161"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1529">[<a href="#xd31e1529">42</a>]</span>
-</p>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<h4>I.</h4>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">All by themselves lived </p>
-<p class="line in12">an old couple fond </p>
-<p class="line">In a nice little grove </p>
-<p class="line in8">just by a millpond. </p>
-<p class="line">Like birds of a feather </p>
-<p class="line">Just always together, </p>
-<p class="line">From childhood the two of them </p>
-<p class="line in8">fed sheep together, </p>
-<p class="line">Got married, got wealthy, </p>
-<p class="line in8">got houses and lands, </p>
-<p class="line">Got a beautiful garden </p>
-<p class="line in8">just where the mill stands, </p>
-<p class="line">An apiary full </p>
-<p class="line in8">of <span class="corr" id="xd31e1555" title="Source: behives">beehives</span> like boulders. </p>
-<p class="line">Yet no children were theirs, </p>
-<p class="line in8">and death at their shoulders. </p>
-<p class="line">Who will cheer their passing years? </p>
-<p class="line">Who will soothe their mortal fears? </p>
-<p class="line">Who will guard their gathered treasure. </p>
-<p class="line">In loyal service find his pleasure? </p>
-<p class="line">Who will be their faithful son </p>
-<p class="line">When low their sands of life do run? </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Hard it is a child to rear, </p>
-<p class="line">In roofless house ’mid want and fear. </p>
-<p class="line">Yet just as hard ’mid gathered wealth, </p>
-<p class="line">When death creeps on with crafty stealth, </p>
-<p class="line">And one’s treasures good </p>
-<p class="line in6">At end of life’s wandering, </p>
-<p class="line">Are for strangers rude </p>
-<p class="line in6">For mocking and squandering. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1578">[<a href="#xd31e1578">44</a>]</span></p>
-<p></p>
-<div class="figure p044width"><img src="images/p044.jpg" alt="Rustic house with pond in front." width="646" height="464"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1583">[<a href="#xd31e1583">43</a>]</span>
-</p>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<h4>II.</h4>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">One fine Sunday, </p>
-<p class="line in8">in the bright sunlight, </p>
-<p class="line">All dressed up </p>
-<p class="line in8">in blouses white, </p>
-<p class="line">The old folks sat </p>
-<p class="line in8">on the bench by the door; </p>
-<p class="line">No cloud in sky, </p>
-<p class="line in8">What could they ask more? </p>
-<p class="line">All peace and love </p>
-<p class="line in8">it seemed like Eden. </p>
-<p class="line">Yet angels above </p>
-<p class="line in8">their hearts might read in, </p>
-<p class="line">A hidden sorrow, </p>
-<p class="line in8">a gloomy mood </p>
-<p class="line">Like lurking beast </p>
-<p class="line in8">in darksome wood. </p>
-<p class="line">In such a heaven </p>
-<p class="line in8">Oh, do you see </p>
-<p class="line">Whatever could </p>
-<p class="line in8">the trouble be? </p>
-<p class="line">I wonder now </p>
-<p class="line in8">what ancient sorrow </p>
-<p class="line">Suddenly sprang </p>
-<p class="line in8">into their morrow. </p>
-<p class="line">Was it quarrel </p>
-<p class="line in8">of yesterday </p>
-<p class="line">Choked off, then </p>
-<p class="line in8">revived today, </p>
-<p class="line">Or yet some newly sprouted ire </p>
-<p class="line">Arisen to set their heaven on fire? </p>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1634">[<a href="#xd31e1634">45</a>]</span></p>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Perchance they’re called to go to God, </p>
-<p class="line">Nor longer dwell on earth’s green sod. </p>
-<p class="line">Then who for them on that far way </p>
-<p class="line">Horses and chariot shall array? </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">“Anastasia, wife of mine, </p>
-<p class="line">Soon will come our fatal day, </p>
-<p class="line">Who will lay our bones away?” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in8">“God only knows. </p>
-<p class="line">With me always was that thought </p>
-<p class="line">Which gloom into my heart has brought. </p>
-<p class="line">Together in years and failing health, </p>
-<p class="line">For what have we gathered </p>
-<p class="line in8">all this wealth?” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in8">“Hold a minute, </p>
-<p class="line">Hearest thou? Something cries </p>
-<p class="line">Beyond the gate—’tis like a child. </p>
-<p class="line">Let’s run! See’st ought? </p>
-<p class="line">I thought something was there.” </p>
-<p class="line">Together they sprang </p>
-<p class="line">And to the gate running; </p>
-<p class="line">Then stopped in silence wondering. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Before the stile </p>
-<p class="line in12">a swaddled child, </p>
-<p class="line">Not bound tightly, </p>
-<p class="line in12">just wrapped lightly, </p>
-<p class="line">For it was </p>
-<p class="line in12">in summer mild, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1673">[<a href="#xd31e1673">46</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">And the mother </p>
-<p class="line in12">with fond caress </p>
-<p class="line">Had covered it </p>
-<p class="line in12">with her own last dress<span class="corr" id="xd31e1681" title="Not in source">.</span> </p>
-<p class="line">In wondering prayer </p>
-<p class="line in12">stood our fond old pair. </p>
-<p class="line">The little thing </p>
-<p class="line in12">just seemed to plead. </p>
-<p class="line">In little arms </p>
-<p class="line in12">stretched out you’ld read </p>
-<p class="line">Its prayer,— </p>
-<p class="line in12">in silence all. </p>
-<p class="line">No crying—just a little breath its call. </p>
-<p class="line in8">“See, ’Stasia! </p>
-<p class="line">What did I tell thee? </p>
-<p class="line">Here is fortune and fate for us; </p>
-<p class="line">No longer dwell we in loneliness. </p>
-<p class="line">Take it </p>
-<p class="line in12">and dress it. </p>
-<p class="line">Look at it! </p>
-<p class="line in12">Bless it! </p>
-<p class="line">Quick, bear it inside, </p>
-<p class="line">To the village I’ll ride. </p>
-<p class="line">Its ours to baptize, </p>
-<p class="line">God-parents we need for our prize.” </p>
-<p class="line in4">In this world </p>
-<p class="line in16">things strangely run. </p>
-<p class="line in4">There’s a fellow </p>
-<p class="line in16">that curses his son, </p>
-<p class="line in4">Chases him away from home, </p>
-<p class="line in4">Into lonely lands to roam, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1726">[<a href="#xd31e1726">47</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">While other poor creatures, </p>
-<p class="line">With sorrowful features, </p>
-<p class="line">With sweat of their toiling </p>
-<p class="line">Must much money earn; </p>
-<p class="line">The wage of their moiling </p>
-<p class="line">Candles to burn. </p>
-<p class="line">Prayers to repeat, </p>
-<p class="line">The saints to entreat; </p>
-<p class="line">For children are none. </p>
-<p class="line">This world is no fun </p>
-<p class="line">The way things run. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure p047width"><img src="images/p047.jpg" alt="Tree and leaves." width="290" height="602"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1744">[<a href="#xd31e1744">48</a>]</span>
-</p>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<h4>III.</h4>
-<p class="line">Their joys do now such numbers reach </p>
-<p class="line">God fathers and mothers </p>
-<p class="line">’Mid lots of others </p>
-<p class="line">Behold they have gathered </p>
-<p class="line">Three pairs of each. </p>
-<p class="line">At even they christen him, </p>
-<p class="line">And Mark is the name of him. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in4">So Mark grows, </p>
-<p class="line in4">And so it goes. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">For the dear old folk it is no joke, </p>
-<p class="line">For they don’t know where to go, </p>
-<p class="line">Where to set him, when to pet him. </p>
-<p class="line">But the year goes and still Mark grows. </p>
-<p class="line">Yet they care for him, you’d scarce tell how, </p>
-<p class="line">Just as he were a good milk-cow. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">And now a woman young and bright, </p>
-<p class="line">With eyebrows dark and skin so white, </p>
-<p class="line">Comes into this blessed place, </p>
-<p class="line">For servant’s task she asks with grace. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">“What, what— </p>
-<p class="line in8">say we’ll take her ’Stasia.” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">“We’ll take her, Trophimus. </p>
-<p class="line">We are old and little wearies us; <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1781">[<a href="#xd31e1781">49</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">He’s almost grown within a year, </p>
-<p class="line">But yet he’ll need more care, I fear.” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">“Truly he’ll need care, </p>
-<p class="line">And now, praise God, I’ve done my share. </p>
-<p class="line">My knees are failing, so now </p>
-<p class="line">You poor thing, tell us your wage, </p>
-<p class="line">It is by the year or how?” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">“What ever you like to give.” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">“No, no, it’s needful to know, </p>
-<p class="line">It’s needful, my daughter, </p>
-<p class="line in10">to count one’s wage. </p>
-<p class="line">This you must learn, count what you earn. </p>
-<p class="line">This is the proverb— </p>
-<p class="line">Who counts not his money </p>
-<p class="line">Hasn’t got any. </p>
-<p class="line">But, child, how will this do? </p>
-<p class="line">You don’t know us, </p>
-<p class="line in10">We don’t know you. </p>
-<p class="line">You’ll stay with us a few days, </p>
-<p class="line">Get acquainted with our ways; </p>
-<p class="line">We’ll see you day by day, </p>
-<p class="line">Bye and bye we’ll talk of pay. </p>
-<p class="line">Is it so, daughter?” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">“Very good, uncle.” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">“We invite you into the house.” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">And so they to agreement came. </p>
-<p class="line">The young woman seemed always the same, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1821">[<a href="#xd31e1821">50</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">Cheerful and happy as she’d married a lord </p>
-<p class="line">Who’d buy up villages just at her word. </p>
-<p class="line">She in the house and out doth work </p>
-<p class="line">From morning light to evening’s mirk. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">And yet the child is her special care; </p>
-<p class="line">Whatever befalls, she’s the mother there. </p>
-<p class="line">Nor Monday nor Sunday this mother misses </p>
-<p class="line">To give its bath and its white dresses. </p>
-<p class="line">She plays and sings, makes <span class="corr" id="xd31e1834" title="Source: waggons">wagons</span> and things, </p>
-<p class="line">And on a holiday, plays with it all the day. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Wondering, the old folks gaze, </p>
-<p class="line">But to God they give the praise. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">So the servant never rests, </p>
-<p class="line">But the night her spirit tests. </p>
-<p class="line">In her chamber then, I ween, </p>
-<p class="line">Many a tear she sheds unseen. </p>
-<p class="line">Yet none knows nor sees it all </p>
-<p class="line">But the little Mark so small. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Nor knows he why in hours of night </p>
-<p class="line">His tossings break her slumbers light. </p>
-<p class="line">So from her couch she quickly leaps, </p>
-<p class="line">The coverings o’er his limbs she keeps. </p>
-<p class="line">With sign of cross the child she blesses, </p>
-<p class="line">Her gentle care her love confesses. </p>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1855">[<a href="#xd31e1855">51</a>]</span></p>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Each morning Mark spreads out his hands </p>
-<p class="line">To the Servant as she stands; </p>
-<p class="line">Accepts, unknowing, a mother’s care. </p>
-<p class="line">Only to grow is his affair. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure o051width"><img src="images/o051.png" alt="Ornament." width="87" height="24"></div><p>
-</p>
-<p></p>
-<div class="figure p051width"><img src="images/p051.jpg" alt="Gate flanked by two small towers." width="598" height="519"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1869">[<a href="#xd31e1869">52</a>]</span>
-</p>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<h4>IV.</h4>
-<p class="line">Meantime many a year has rolled, </p>
-<p class="line">Many waters to the sea have flowed, </p>
-<p class="line">Trouble to the home has come, </p>
-<p class="line">Many a tear down the cheek has run. </p>
-<p class="line">Poor old ’Stasia in earth they laid. </p>
-<p class="line">Hardly old Trophim’ from death they saved. </p>
-<p class="line">The cursed trouble roared so loud, </p>
-<p class="line">And then it went to sleep, I trow. </p>
-<p class="line">From the dark woods where she frightened lay </p>
-<p class="line">Peace came back in the home to stay. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in4">The little Mark is farmer now. </p>
-<p class="line in4">With ox-teams great in the fall must go </p>
-<p class="line in4">To far Crimea to barter there </p>
-<p class="line in4">Skins for salt and goods more rare. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in4">The Servant and Trophimus </p>
-<p class="line in12">in counsel wise </p>
-<p class="line in4">Plans for his marriage </p>
-<p class="line in12">now devise. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in4">Dared she her thoughts utter </p>
-<p class="line in4">For the Czar’s daughter </p>
-<p class="line in4">She’d send in a trice. </p>
-<p class="line in4">But the most she could say </p>
-<p class="line in4">While thinking this way </p>
-<p class="line in4">Was, “Ask Mark’s advice.” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in4">“My daughter, we’ll ask him, </p>
-<p class="line in4">And then we’ll affiance him.” <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1921">[<a href="#xd31e1921">53</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line in4">So they gave him sage advice, </p>
-<p class="line in4">And they made decision nice. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Soon his grave friends about him stand. </p>
-<p class="line">He sends them to woo, a stately band. </p>
-<p class="line">Back they come with towels on shoulder </p>
-<p class="line">Ere the day is many hours older. </p>
-<p class="line">The sacred bread they have exchanged, </p>
-<p class="line">The bargain now is all arranged. </p>
-<p class="line">They’ve found a maiden in noble dress, </p>
-<p class="line">A princess true, you well may guess. </p>
-<p class="line">Such a queen is in this affiance </p>
-<p class="line">As with a general might make alliance. </p>
-<p class="line">“Hail, and well done,” the old man says, </p>
-<p class="line">And now let’s have no more delays. </p>
-<p class="line">When the marriage, where the priest, </p>
-<p class="line">What about the wedding feast? </p>
-<p class="line">Who shall take the mother’s place? </p>
-<p class="line">How we’ll miss my ’Stasia’s face.” </p>
-<p class="line">The tears along his cheeks do fall, </p>
-<p class="line">Yet a word does the Servant’s heart appall<span class="corr" id="xd31e1948" title="Not in source">.</span> </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Hastily rushing from the room, </p>
-<p class="line">In chamber near she falls in swoon. </p>
-<p class="line">The house is silent, the light is dim, </p>
-<p class="line">The sorrowing Servant thinks of him </p>
-<p class="line">And whispers: “Mother, mother, mother.” </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure p053width"><img src="images/p008.png" alt="Cither" width="200" height="62"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1960">[<a href="#xd31e1960">54</a>]</span>
-</p>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<h4>V.</h4>
-<p class="line">All the week at the wedding cake </p>
-<p class="line">Young women in crowds both mix and bake. </p>
-<p class="line">The old man is in wondrous glee, </p>
-<p class="line">With all the young women dances he. </p>
-<p class="line">At sweeping the yard </p>
-<p class="line">He labors hard. </p>
-<p class="line">All passers-by on foot and horseback </p>
-<p class="line">He hales to the court where is no lack </p>
-<p class="line">Of good home-brew. </p>
-<p class="line">All comers he asks to the marriage </p>
-<p class="line">And yet ’tis true </p>
-<p class="line">He runs around so </p>
-<p class="line">You’d not guess from his carriage </p>
-<p class="line">Though his joy is such a wonderful gift, </p>
-<p class="line">His old legs are ’most too heavy to lift. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Everywhere is disorder and laughter </p>
-<p class="line">Within the house and in the yard. </p>
-<p class="line">From store-room keg upon keg follows after, </p>
-<p class="line">Workers’ voices everywhere heard. </p>
-<p class="line">They bake, they boil, </p>
-<p class="line">At sweeping toil, </p>
-<p class="line">Tables and floors they wash them all. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">And where is the Servant </p>
-<p class="line in8">who cares not for wage? </p>
-<p class="line">To Kiev she is gone </p>
-<p class="line in8">on pilgrimage. </p>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1996">[<a href="#xd31e1996">55</a>]</span></p>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Yes, Anna went. The old man pled, </p>
-<p class="line">Mark almost wept for her to stay, </p>
-<p class="line">As mother sit, to see him wed. </p>
-<p class="line">Her call of duty elsewhere lay. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">“No, Mark, such honor must I not take </p>
-<p class="line">To sit while you your homage make </p>
-<p class="line">To parents dear. </p>
-<p class="line">My mind is clear. </p>
-<p class="line">A servant must not thy mother be </p>
-<p class="line">Lest wealthy guests may laugh at thee. </p>
-<p class="line">Now may God’s mercy with thee stay, </p>
-<p class="line">To the saints at Kiev I go to pray. </p>
-<p class="line">But yet again shall I return </p>
-<p class="line">Unto your house, if you do not spurn </p>
-<p class="line">My strength and toil.” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">With pure heart </p>
-<p class="line in8">she blessed her Mark </p>
-<p class="line">And weeping, passed </p>
-<p class="line in8">beyond the gate. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Then the wedding blossomed out; </p>
-<p class="line">Work for musicians and the joyous rout </p>
-<p class="line">Of dancing feet; </p>
-<p class="line">While mead so sweet </p>
-<p class="line">Of fermented honey with spices dashed </p>
-<p class="line">Over the benches and tables splashed, </p>
-<p class="line">Meanwhile the Servant limps along </p>
-<p class="line">Hastening on the weary road to Kiev. </p>
-<p class="line">To the city come, she does not rest, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2032">[<a href="#xd31e2032">56</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">Hires to a woman of the town; </p>
-<p class="line">For wages carries water. </p>
-<p class="line">You see she money, money needs </p>
-<p class="line">For prayers to Holy Barbara. </p>
-<p class="line">She water carries, never tarries, </p>
-<p class="line">And mighty store of pennies saves, </p>
-<p class="line">Then in the Lavra’s awesome caves </p>
-<p class="line">She seeks the blessed wealth she craves. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">From St. John she buys a magic cap, </p>
-<p class="line">For Mark she bears it; </p>
-<p class="line">And when he wears it, </p>
-<p class="line">For never a headache need he give e’er a rap. </p>
-<p class="line">And then St. Barbara gives her a ring, </p>
-<p class="line">To her new daughter back to bring. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">’Fore all the saints </p>
-<p class="line in10">she makes prostrations, </p>
-<p class="line">Then home returns </p>
-<p class="line in10">having paid her oblations. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">She has come back. </p>
-<p class="line">Fair Kate with Mark makes haste to meet her, </p>
-<p class="line">Far beyond the gate they greet her, </p>
-<p class="line">Then into the house they bring her, </p>
-<p class="line">Draw her to the table there </p>
-<p class="line">Quickly spread with choicest fare. </p>
-<p class="line">Her news of Kiev they now request, </p>
-<p class="line">While Kate arranges her couch for rest. </p>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2067">[<a href="#xd31e2067">57</a>]</span></p>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in8">“Why do they love me, </p>
-<p class="line in4">Why this respect? </p>
-<p class="line in8">Dear God above me, </p>
-<p class="line in4">Do they suspect? </p>
-<p class="line in8">Nay, that’s not so, </p>
-<p class="line in8">’Tis just goodness, I know.” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">And still the Servant her secret kept, </p>
-<p class="line">Yet from the hurt of her penance wept. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure p057width"><img src="images/p057.jpg" alt="Three men with large rakes." width="379" height="436"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2088">[<a href="#xd31e2088">58</a>]</span>
-</p>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<h4>VI.</h4>
-<p class="line">Three times have the waters frozen </p>
-<p class="line">Thrice thawed at the touch of spring </p>
-<p class="line">Three times did the Servant </p>
-<p class="line">From Kiev her store of blessings bring. </p>
-<p class="line">And each time gentle Katherine, </p>
-<p class="line">As daughter, set her on her way, </p>
-<p class="line">A fourth time led her by the mounds </p>
-<p class="line">Where many dear departed lay. </p>
-<p class="line">Then prayed to God for her safe return<span class="corr" id="xd31e2103" title="Not in source">,</span> </p>
-<p class="line">For whom in absence her heart would yearn. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">It was the Sunday of the Virgin, </p>
-<p class="line">Old Trophimus sat in garments white, </p>
-<p class="line">On the bench, in wide straw hat, </p>
-<p class="line">All amid the sunshine bright. </p>
-<p class="line">Before him with a little dog </p>
-<p class="line">His frolicsome grandson played, </p>
-<p class="line">The while his little granddaughter </p>
-<p class="line">Was in her mother’s garb arrayed. </p>
-<p class="line">Smiling he welcomed her as matron; </p>
-<p class="line">For so at “visitors” they played. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">“But what did you do with the visitor’s cake? </p>
-<p class="line">Did somebody steal it in the wood, </p>
-<p class="line">Or perhaps you’ve simply forgotten to bake?” </p>
-<p class="line">For so they talked in lightsome mood. </p>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2122">[<a href="#xd31e2122">59</a>]</span></p>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">But see,—Who comes? </p>
-<p class="line">’Tis their Anna at the door! </p>
-<p class="line">Run old and young! Who’ll come before? </p>
-<p class="line">But Anna waits not their welcome wordy. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">“Is Mark at home, or still on journey?” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">“He’s off on journey long enough,” </p>
-<p class="line">Says the old man in accents gruff. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">With pain the Servant sadly saith, </p>
-<p class="line">“Home have I come with failing breath; </p>
-<p class="line">Nor ’mid strangers would I wait for death<span class="corr" id="xd31e2138" title="Source: ,">.</span> </p>
-<p class="line">May I but live my Mark to see, </p>
-<p class="line">For something grievously weighs on me.” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">From little bag the children’s gifts </p>
-<p class="line">She takes. There’s crosses and amulets. </p>
-<p class="line">For Irene is of beads a string, </p>
-<p class="line">And pictures too, and for Karpon </p>
-<p class="line">A nightingale to sweetly sing, </p>
-<p class="line">Toy horses and a wagon. </p>
-<p class="line">A fourth time she brings a ring </p>
-<p class="line">From St. Barbara to Katherine. </p>
-<p class="line">Next the old man’s gift she handles, </p>
-<p class="line">It’s just three holy waxen candles. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">For Mark and herself </p>
-<p class="line in8">she nothing brought; </p>
-<p class="line">For want of money </p>
-<p class="line in8">she nothing bought. </p>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2161">[<a href="#xd31e2161">60</a>]</span></p>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">For want of strength </p>
-<p class="line in8">more funds to earn, </p>
-<p class="line">Half a bun was her wealth </p>
-<p class="line in8">on her return. </p>
-<p class="line">As to how to divide it </p>
-<p class="line">Let the babes decide it. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure p060width"><img src="images/p060.png" alt="Children playing." width="574" height="278"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2176">[<a href="#xd31e2176">61</a>]</span>
-</p>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<h4>VII.</h4>
-<p class="line">She enters now the house so sweet, </p>
-<p class="line">And daughter Katherine bathes her feet<span class="corr" id="xd31e2184" title="Not in source">.</span> </p>
-<p class="line">Then sets her down to dine in state, </p>
-<p class="line">But my Anna nor drank nor ate. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in8">“Katherine! </p>
-<p class="line">When is our Sunday?” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in8">“After tomorrow’s the day.” </p>
-<p class="line">“Prayers for the dead soon will we need </p>
-<p class="line">Such as St. Nicholas may heed. </p>
-<p class="line">Then we must an offering pay, </p>
-<p class="line">For Mark tarries on the way. </p>
-<p class="line">Perchance somewhere, </p>
-<p class="line in8">from our vision hid, </p>
-<p class="line">Sickness has ta’en him </p>
-<p class="line in8">which God forbid.” </p>
-<p class="line">The tears dropped down </p>
-<p class="line in8">from the sad old eyes, </p>
-<p class="line">So wearily did she </p>
-<p class="line in8">from the table rise. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in8">“<span class="corr" id="xd31e2215" title="Source: Katherina">Katherine</span>, </p>
-<p class="line">My race is run, </p>
-<p class="line">All my earthly tasks are done. </p>
-<p class="line">My powers no longer I command </p>
-<p class="line">Nor on my feet have strength to stand. </p>
-<p class="line">And yet, my Kate, how can I die </p>
-<p class="line">While in this dear warm home I lie?” </p>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2224">[<a href="#xd31e2224">62</a>]</span></p>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">The sickness harder grows amain, </p>
-<p class="line">For her the sacred host’s appointed, </p>
-<p class="line">She’s been with holy oils anointed, </p>
-<p class="line">Yet nought relieves her pain. </p>
-<p class="line">Old Trophim’ in courtyard walks a-ring </p>
-<p class="line">Moving like a stricken thing. </p>
-<p class="line">Katherine, for the suff’rers sake </p>
-<p class="line">Doth never rest for her eyelids take. </p>
-<p class="line">And even the owls upon the roof </p>
-<p class="line">Of coming evil tell the proof. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">The suff’rer now, each day, each hour, </p>
-<p class="line">Whispers the question, with waning power </p>
-<p class="line">“Daughter Katherine, is Mark yet here? </p>
-<p class="line">So struggle I with doubt and fear, </p>
-<p class="line">Did I but know I’d see him for sure </p>
-<p class="line">Through all my pain I might endure.” </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure p062width"><img src="images/p062.png" alt="Cossacks dancing in village." width="299" height="208"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2247">[<a href="#xd31e2247">63</a>]</span> </p>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<h4>VIII.</h4>
-<p class="line">Now Mark comes on with the caravan </p>
-<p class="line">Singing blithely as he can. </p>
-<p class="line">To the inns he makes no speed, </p>
-<p class="line">Quietly lets the oxen feed. </p>
-<p class="line">Mark brings home for Katherine </p>
-<p class="line">Precious cloth of substance rich; </p>
-<p class="line">For father dear, a girdle sewn </p>
-<p class="line">Of silk so red. </p>
-<p class="line">For Servant Anne </p>
-<p class="line in8">a gold cloth bonnet </p>
-<p class="line">To deck her head, </p>
-<p class="line in8">And kerchief, too </p>
-<p class="line in8">with white lace on it. </p>
-<p class="line">For the children are shoes </p>
-<p class="line in8">with figs and grapes. </p>
-<p class="line">There’s gifts for all, </p>
-<p class="line in8">there’s none escapes. </p>
-<p class="line">For all he brings </p>
-<p class="line in8">red wine, so fine, </p>
-<p class="line">From great old city </p>
-<p class="line in8">of Constantine. </p>
-<p class="line">There’s buckets three </p>
-<p class="line in8">in each barrel put on. </p>
-<p class="line">And caviar </p>
-<p class="line in8">from the river Don. </p>
-<p class="line">Such gifts he has </p>
-<p class="line in8">in his wagon there, </p>
-<p class="line">Nor knows the sorrow </p>
-<p class="line in8">his loved ones bear. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2294">[<a href="#xd31e2294">64</a>]</span></p>
-<p class="line">On comes Mark, </p>
-<p class="line in8">knows not of worry; </p>
-<p class="line">But he’s come </p>
-<p class="line in8">Give God the glory! </p>
-<p class="line">The gate he opens, </p>
-<p class="line in8">Praising God. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">“Hear’st thou, Katherine? </p>
-<p class="line">Run to meet him! </p>
-<p class="line">Already he’s come, </p>
-<p class="line">Haste to greet him! </p>
-<p class="line">Quickly bring him in to me. </p>
-<p class="line">Glory to Thee, my Saviour dear, </p>
-<p class="line">All the strength has come from Thee.” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">And she “Our Father” softly said </p>
-<p class="line">Just as if in dream she read. </p>
-<p class="line">The old man the team unyokes, </p>
-<p class="line">Lays away the carven yokes. </p>
-<p class="line">Kate at her husband strangely looks. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">“Where’s Anna, Katherine? </p>
-<p class="line">I’ve been careless! </p>
-<p class="line">She’s not dead?” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in8">“No, not dead, </p>
-<p class="line">But very sick and calls for thee.” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">On the threshold Mark appears, </p>
-<p class="line">Standing there as torn by fears. </p>
-<p class="line">But Anna whispers, “Be not afraid, </p>
-<p class="line">Glory to God, Who my fears allayed. </p>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2332">[<a href="#xd31e2332">65</a>]</span></p>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Go forth, Katherine, </p>
-<p class="line in8">though I love you well, </p>
-<p class="line">I’ve something to ask him, </p>
-<p class="line in8">something to tell.” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">From the place </p>
-<p class="line in8">fair Katherine went; </p>
-<p class="line">While Mark his head </p>
-<p class="line in8">o’er the Servant bent. </p>
-<p class="line">“Mark, look at me, </p>
-<p class="line">Look at me well! </p>
-<p class="line">A secret now I have to tell. </p>
-<p class="line">On this faded form </p>
-<p class="line in8">set no longer store, </p>
-<p class="line">No servant, I, nor Anna more, </p>
-<p class="line">I am——” </p>
-<p class="line in8">Came silence dumb, </p>
-<p class="line">Nor yet guessed Mark </p>
-<p class="line in8">What was to come. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Yet once again her eyelids raised </p>
-<p class="line">Into his eyes she deeply gazed </p>
-<p class="line">’Mid gathering tears. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">“I from thee forgiveness pray; </p>
-<p class="line">I’ve penance offered day by day </p>
-<p class="line">All my life to serve another. </p>
-<p class="line">Forgive me, son, of me, </p>
-<p class="line">For I—am thy mother.” </p>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2372">[<a href="#xd31e2372">66</a>]</span></p>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">She ceased to speak. </p>
-<p class="line">A sudden faintness </p>
-<p class="line in8">Mark did take: </p>
-<p class="line">It seemed the earth </p>
-<p class="line in8">itself did shake. </p>
-<p class="line">He roused— </p>
-<p class="line in8">and to his mother crept, </p>
-<p class="line">But the mother </p>
-<p class="line in8">forever slept. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure p066width"><img src="images/p066.png" alt="Person kneeling in near bullock cart." width="324" height="149"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2391">[<a href="#xd31e2391">67</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="legacy" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e428">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<div class="figure"><img src="images/o067.png" alt="A Father’s Legacy" width="628" height="155"></div>
-<h2 class="main">A Father’s Legacy</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"><i>When Gregory Shevchenko—for this was the father’s name—was on his deathbed, he called
-his family around him and gave his parting bequests. A serf might not, indeed, sell
-any of his household goods without permission of his landlord, but he could give them
-to his relatives who, of course, were the property of the same landlord. So Gregory
-Shevchenko distributed his pitiful treasures to the children and to his wife,—saying
-finally—</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>“To my son, Taras, I give nothing. He will be no common man. Either he will be something
-very good or else a great rascal. For him the patrimony will either mean nothing,
-or will not help any.”</i>
-</p>
-<p></p>
-<div class="figure p067width"><img src="images/p067.png" alt="House with well." width="243" height="91"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2406">[<a href="#xd31e2406">68</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="caucasus" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e243">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<div class="figure"><img src="images/o068-1.jpg" alt="Caucasus" width="431" height="121"></div>
-<h2 class="main">Caucasus</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"><i>To Jacques de Balmont—French friend of the Ukrainians who perished in the Circassian
-war.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>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.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>The memory of these sufferings was the inspiration of this bitter poem.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>The text is taken from the prophecy of Jeremiah, Chapter 9, verse 1.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>“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.”</i>
-</p>
-<p></p>
-<div class="figure o068-2width"><img src="images/o068-2.jpg" alt="Ornament: decorated egg pointing right." width="132" height="83"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2430">[<a href="#xd31e2430">69</a>]</span>
-</p>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Beyond the hills are mightier hills, </p>
-<p class="line">Cloud mountains o’er them rise, </p>
-<p class="line">Red, red have flowed their streams and rills, </p>
-<p class="line">They’re sown with human woes and sighs. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">There long ago in days of old </p>
-<p class="line">Olympus’ Czar, the angry Jove, </p>
-<p class="line">His wrath did pour on a hero bold, </p>
-<p class="line">On brave Prometheus, he who strove </p>
-<p class="line">The fire of heaven to seize for men. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">On mountain side, in vulture’s den </p>
-<p class="line">He suffered what no mortal pen </p>
-<p class="line">May well indite. The savage beak </p>
-<p class="line">Of his hearts’ blood doth daily reek. </p>
-<p class="line">Yet the torn heart again revives, </p>
-<p class="line">To triumph o’er its tortures strives. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Our souls yield not to grievous ills, </p>
-<p class="line">To freedom march our stubborn wills. </p>
-<p class="line">Though waves of trouble o’er us roll </p>
-<p class="line">The waves move not the steadfast soul. </p>
-<p class="line">Our living spirit is not in chains, </p>
-<p class="line">The word of God in glory reigns. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">’Tis not for us to challenge Thee, </p>
-<p class="line">Though life rolls on in toil and tears; </p>
-<p class="line">Though we Thy purpose cannot see </p>
-<p class="line">We cling to hope ’mid doubts and fears. </p>
-<p class="line">Our cause lies sunk in drunken sleep </p>
-<p class="line">When will it awaken<span class="corr" id="xd31e2466" title="Source: .">,</span> Lord? <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2469">[<a href="#xd31e2469">70</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">Oppressors gloat and patriots weep, </p>
-<p class="line">When wilt strength to us afford? </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">So weary, then art Thou, Oh God, </p>
-<p class="line">Can’st life to us no longer give? </p>
-<p class="line">Thy Truth we trust beneath the rod, </p>
-<p class="line">Believing in Thy strength we live. </p>
-<p class="line">Our cause shall rise, </p>
-<p class="line">Our freedom rise </p>
-<p class="line">Though tyrants rage: </p>
-<p class="line">To Thee alone, </p>
-<p class="line">All nations bow </p>
-<p class="line">Through age on age </p>
-<p class="line">And yet meantime </p>
-<p class="line in8">the streams do flow </p>
-<p class="line">And ever tinged with blood </p>
-<p class="line in8">they go. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Beyond the hills are mightier hills, </p>
-<p class="line">Cloud mountains o’er them rise. </p>
-<p class="line">Red, red have flowed their streams and rills, </p>
-<p class="line">They’re sown with human woes and sighs. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Look at us in tender heartedness, </p>
-<p class="line">All in hunger dire and nakedness, </p>
-<p class="line">Forging freedom in unhappiness, </p>
-<p class="line">Toiling ever without blessedness. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">The bones of soldiers bleaching lie, </p>
-<p class="line">In blood and tears must many die. </p>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2504">[<a href="#xd31e2504">71</a>]</span></p>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">In faith, there’s widows’ tears, I think, </p>
-<p class="line">To all the Czars to give to drink. </p>
-<p class="line">Then there’s tears of many a maiden </p>
-<p class="line">Falling so soft in the lonely night. </p>
-<p class="line">Hot tears of mothers, sorrow-laden, </p>
-<p class="line">Dry tears of fathers, in grievous plight. </p>
-<p class="line">Not rivers, but a sea has flowed, </p>
-<p class="line">A burning sea. </p>
-<p class="line">To all the Czars who in triumph rode, </p>
-<p class="line">With their hounds and gamekeepers, </p>
-<p class="line">Their dogs and their beaters, </p>
-<p class="line">May glory be! </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">To you be glory, hills of blue, </p>
-<p class="line">All clad in monstrous chains of frost. </p>
-<p class="line">Glory to you, ye heroes true, </p>
-<p class="line">With God your labors are not lost. </p>
-<p class="line">Fear not to fight, you’ll win at length, </p>
-<p class="line">For you, God’s ruth, </p>
-<p class="line">For you is freedom, for you is strength, </p>
-<p class="line">And Holy Truth. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure p071width"><img src="images/p071.png" alt="Woman carrying yoke with two buckets on shoulder." width="98" height="122"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2533">[<a href="#xd31e2533">72</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">TO THE CIRCASSIANS</h2>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">“Our bread and home,” in your own tongue, </p>
-<p class="line">In Tartar words you dare to say. </p>
-<p class="line">Nobody gave it you, your world is young, </p>
-<p class="line">So far no one has ta’en it away. </p>
-<p class="line">Nobody yet has led you in fetters, </p>
-<p class="line">But we have wisdom in such matters. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">In God’s good word we daily read, </p>
-<p class="line">But from dungeons where the pris’ners moan, </p>
-<p class="line">To Caesar’s high-exalted throne </p>
-<p class="line">’Tis gilt without, while the soul’s in need. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">To us for wisdom should you come, </p>
-<p class="line">We’ll teach you all the tricks of trade. </p>
-<p class="line">Good Christians we, with church and Ikon; </p>
-<p class="line">All goods, even God, our own we’ve made. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">But that house of yours </p>
-<p class="line in8">Still hurts our eyes; </p>
-<p class="line">If we didn’t give it, </p>
-<p class="line in8">Why should you have it? </p>
-<p class="line">These ways of yours </p>
-<p class="line in8">cause much surprise. </p>
-<p class="line">We never granted </p>
-<p class="line in8">The corn you planted. </p>
-<p class="line">The sunlight, you </p>
-<p class="line in8">Should pay for, too. </p>
-<p class="line">Oh, quite uneducated you! </p>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2572">[<a href="#xd31e2572">73</a>]</span></p>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Good Christians we, no pagans needy, </p>
-<p class="line">Sound in the faith, not a bit greedy. </p>
-<p class="line">If you in peace from us would learn </p>
-<p class="line">Store of wisdom you would earn. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">With us what great illumination, </p>
-<p class="line">A cont’nent ’neath our domination; </p>
-<p class="line">Siberia great, for illustration. </p>
-<p class="line">There’s jails and folks ’yond computation. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">From Moldavia to Finlandia </p>
-<p class="line">Many tongues but nothing said, </p>
-<p class="line">Except for blessings on your head. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">A holy monk here reads the Bible, </p>
-<p class="line">Tells the story, ’tis no libel, </p>
-<p class="line">Of king who stole his neighbour’s wife, </p>
-<p class="line">And then the neighbour he robbed of life. </p>
-<p class="line">The king now dwells in paradise. </p>
-<p class="line">Such folks ’mong us to heaven rise. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Oh, you creatures unenlightened, </p>
-<p class="line">Be ye not of our dogmas frightened! </p>
-<p class="line">Our gentle art of “grab” we’ll teach; </p>
-<p class="line">A coin to the church and heaven you’ll reach. </p>
-<p class="line">Whatever is there we can’t do? </p>
-<p class="line">The stars we count and crops we sow; </p>
-<p class="line">The foreigner curse, </p>
-<p class="line">Then fill our purse, </p>
-<p class="line">The people selling, </p>
-<p class="line">’Tis truth I’m telling. </p>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2605">[<a href="#xd31e2605">74</a>]</span></p>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">No niggers we sell, I’m not making jokes, </p>
-<p class="line">Just common ord’nary Christian folks. </p>
-<p class="line">No Spaniards we, may God forbid! </p>
-<p class="line">Nor Jews that stolen goods have hid. </p>
-<p class="line">So don’t you think you’d like to be </p>
-<p class="line">Such law-abiding folks as we? </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure p074width"><img src="images/p006.png" alt="House with melon and sunflower in garden." width="284" height="255"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2618">[<a href="#xd31e2618">75</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">TO THE RICH AND GREAT</h2>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Is it by the apostle’s law </p>
-<p class="line">That ye your brother love? </p>
-<p class="line">Hypocrites and chatterers, </p>
-<p class="line">Ye’re cursed of God above. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Not for your brother’s soul you care. </p>
-<p class="line">It’s only for his skin. </p>
-<p class="line">The skin from off his back you’d tear, </p>
-<p class="line">Some trifling prize to win. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">There’s furs for your daughter, </p>
-<p class="line">Slippers for your wife, </p>
-<p class="line">And things that you don’t utter </p>
-<p class="line">About your private life. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure p075width"><img src="images/p075.png" alt="Farmer’s house." width="302" height="230"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2642">[<a href="#xd31e2642">76</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">TO THE MASTER</h2>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Oh, wherefore wert Thou crucified, </p>
-<p class="line">Thou Christ, the Son of God? </p>
-<p class="line">That the word of Truth be glorified? </p>
-<p class="line">Or that we good folks should ’scape the rod </p>
-<p class="line">Of avenging wrath, by faith confest? </p>
-<p class="line">Meanwhile of Thee we make a jest, </p>
-<p class="line">Mocking Thy love in our conduct’s test. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Cathedrals and chapels with Icons grand! </p>
-<p class="line">’Mid smoke of incense lavers stand. </p>
-<p class="line">There before Thy pictured Presence </p>
-<p class="line">Crowds unwearied make obeisance; </p>
-<p class="line">For spoil, for war, for slaughter seek </p>
-<p class="line">Their brother’s blood to shed they pray, </p>
-<p class="line">And then before Thy form so meek </p>
-<p class="line">The loot of burning towns they lay. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure p076width"><img src="images/p076.png" alt="Farmer’s house with well." width="295" height="160"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2669">[<a href="#xd31e2669">77</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">AGAIN ADDRESSING THE CIRCASSIANS</h2>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<p class="line">The sun on us has shone so bright, </p>
-<p class="line">We wish to you to give the light. </p>
-<p class="line">That sun of truth we seek to show </p>
-<p class="line">To children blind, all in a row. </p>
-<p class="line">Wonders all to see we’ll let you </p>
-<p class="line">If in our hands we only get you. </p>
-<p class="line">Of building jails we’ll show the trick, </p>
-<p class="line">How pris’ners ’gainst their fetters kick. </p>
-<p class="line">There’s knotted whips for stubborn backs, </p>
-<p class="line">For saucy nations painful racks. </p>
-<p class="line">In change for your mountains grand and old, </p>
-<p class="line">With this instruction we you greet. </p>
-<p class="line">These are the last things, already we hold </p>
-<p class="line">The plains and seas beneath our feet. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure p077width"><img src="images/p077.png" alt="Weeping willow with boat." width="196" height="242"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2693">[<a href="#xd31e2693">78</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">TO JACQUES DE BALMONT</h2>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">So they drove thee along, my dearest friend, </p>
-<p class="line">For Ukraina did’st thou shed </p>
-<p class="line">That good heart’s blood of thine so red. </p>
-<p class="line">Our country’s hangman, shame to think, </p>
-<p class="line">Muscovite poison gave thee to drink. </p>
-<p class="line">Oh, friend of mine, unforgotten friend, </p>
-<p class="line">Ukraine to thee doth welcome send. </p>
-<p class="line">Let thy spirit fly with Cossacks bold. </p>
-<p class="line">Along the shores of Dnieper old. </p>
-<p class="line">O’er ancient tombs hold watch and guard </p>
-<p class="line">And weep with us in labors hard. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Till I return to meet thee, </p>
-<p class="line">My songs I send to greet thee. </p>
-<p class="line">Such songs they are of bitter woe. </p>
-<p class="line">Yet ever, always, these I sow. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Thoughts and songs forever sowing, </p>
-<p class="line">To the care of winds bestowing. </p>
-<p class="line">Gentle winds of Ukraine </p>
-<p class="line">Shall bear them like the dew </p>
-<p class="line">To that dear land of mine </p>
-<p class="line">To greet my friends so true<span class="corr" id="xd31e2723" title="Not in source">.</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure p078width"><img src="images/p078.png" alt="Row of three houses." width="394" height="76"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2729">[<a href="#xd31e2729">79</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="serfdom" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e435">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<div class="figure"><img src="images/o079.png" alt="The Meaning of Serfdom" width="631" height="175"></div>
-<h2 class="main">The Meaning of Serfdom</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"><i>Three or four days of every week the serfs—men and women alike—must labor in their
-master’s fields for nought. What was left of the week, they were granted to earn subsistence
-for themselves and their families.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>But that was not the worst. More bitter than labor was the fact that they were not
-their own, were chattels of their lord, who could sell them at his pleasure or gamble
-them away at cards.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>He could beat them too, or kill them if he wished, without fear, for what advocate
-would take up the case of a penniless serf against the all-powerful aristocracy.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>Hideous, too, was the glaring fact that young daughters of the serfs were regarded
-as the legitimate prey of the landlord and, his sons.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>In these later days the sins of the fathers have been visited in awful fashion on
-the descendants of these landlords. But can we <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2749">[<a href="#xd31e2749">80</a>]</span>wonder that in the writings of a poet whose childhood was poisoned by knowledge of
-such injustice, we find evidence of the growing avenging fury that later was to bring
-about such awe-inspiring convulsions in human society.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>Through all of Shevchenko’s verse there sounds the great theme of that contrast between
-the beauty of God’s world, and the horrors of human cruelty.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>“An earthly heaven we had from Thee; Turned it into hell have we.”</i>
-</p>
-<p></p>
-<div class="figure p080width"><img src="images/p027.png" alt="Three persons resting in field." width="293" height="152"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2762">[<a href="#xd31e2762">81</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="dead" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e250">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<div class="figure"><img src="images/o081.png" alt="To the Dead" width="516" height="157"></div>
-<h2 class="main">To the Dead</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first center">And the Living, and the Unborn, Countrymen <br>of mine, in Ukraine, or out of it, <br>My Epistle of Friendship.
-</p>
-<p><i>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.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>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.</i>
-</p>
-<p></p>
-<div class="figure o081-2width"><img src="images/o081-2.png" alt="Ornament." width="81" height="22"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2783">[<a href="#xd31e2783">82</a>]</span> </p>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">’Twas dawn, ’tis evening light, </p>
-<p class="line">So passes Day divine. </p>
-<p class="line">Again the weary folk </p>
-<p class="line">And all things earthly </p>
-<p class="line in8">Take their rest. </p>
-<p class="line">I alone, remorseful </p>
-<p class="line">For my country’s woes, </p>
-<p class="line in8">Weep day and night, </p>
-<p class="line">By the thronged cross-roads, </p>
-<p class="line">Unheeded by all. </p>
-<p class="line">They see not, they know not; </p>
-<p class="line">Deaf ears, they hear not. </p>
-<p class="line">They trade old fetters for new </p>
-<p class="line">And barter righteousness, </p>
-<p class="line">Make nothing of their God. </p>
-<p class="line">They harness the people </p>
-<p class="line">With heavy yokes. </p>
-<p class="line">Evil they plough, </p>
-<p class="line">With evil they sow. </p>
-<p class="line">What crops will spring? </p>
-<p class="line">What harvest will you see? </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Arouse ye, unnatural ones. </p>
-<p class="line">Children of Herod! </p>
-<p class="line">Look on this calm Eden, </p>
-<p class="line">Your own Ukraine, </p>
-<p class="line">Bestow on her tender love, </p>
-<p class="line">Mighty in her ruins. </p>
-<p class="line">Break your fetters, </p>
-<p class="line">Join in brotherhood, </p>
-<p class="line">Seek not in foreign lands <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2822">[<a href="#xd31e2822">83</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">Things that are not. </p>
-<p class="line">Nor yet in Heaven, </p>
-<p class="line">Nor in stranger’s fields, </p>
-<p class="line">But in your own house </p>
-<p class="line">Lies your righteousness, </p>
-<p class="line">Your strength and your liberty. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">In the world is but one Ukraine, </p>
-<p class="line">Dnieper—there is only one. </p>
-<p class="line">But you must off to foreign lands </p>
-<p class="line">To look for something grand and good. </p>
-<p class="line">Wealth of goodness and liberty, </p>
-<p class="line">Fraternity and so forth, you found. </p>
-<p class="line">And back you brought to Ukraine </p>
-<p class="line">From places far away </p>
-<p class="line">A wondrous force </p>
-<p class="line in4">of lofty sounding words, </p>
-<p class="line">And nothing more. </p>
-<p class="line">Shout aloud </p>
-<p class="line in4">That God created you for this, </p>
-<p class="line">To bow the knee to lies, </p>
-<p class="line">To bend and bend again </p>
-<p class="line in4">Your spineless backs </p>
-<p class="line">And skin again </p>
-<p class="line in4">Your brothers— </p>
-<p class="line">These ignorant buckwheat farmers. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Try again </p>
-<p class="line in4">to ripen crops of truth and light </p>
-<p class="line">In Germany </p>
-<p class="line in4">or some other foreign place. </p>
-<p class="line">If one should add <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2865">[<a href="#xd31e2865">84</a>]</span></p>
-<p class="line in4">all our present misery </p>
-<p class="line">To the wealth </p>
-<p class="line in4">Our fathers stole </p>
-<p class="line">Orphaned, indeed, would Dnieper be </p>
-<p class="line in4">with all his holy hills. </p>
-<p class="line">Faugh! if it should happen </p>
-<p class="line in4">that you would never come back, </p>
-<p class="line">Or get snuffed out </p>
-<p class="line in4">just where you were spawned </p>
-<p class="line">No children would weep </p>
-<p class="line in4">nor mothers lament, </p>
-<p class="line">Nor in God’s house be heard </p>
-<p class="line in4">the story of your shame. </p>
-<p class="line">The sun would not shine </p>
-<p class="line in4">on the stench of your filth </p>
-<p class="line">O’er the clean, broad, free land, </p>
-<p class="line">Nor would the people know </p>
-<p class="line in4">what eagles you were </p>
-<p class="line">Nor turn their heads to gaze. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Arouse ye, be men! </p>
-<p class="line">For evil days come. </p>
-<p class="line">Quickly a people enchained </p>
-<p class="line">Shall tear off their fetters; </p>
-<p class="line">Judgment will come, </p>
-<p class="line">Dnieper and the hills will speak. </p>
-<p class="line">A hundred rivers </p>
-<p class="line in4">flow to the sea </p>
-<p class="line in4">with your children’s blood, </p>
-<p class="line">Nor will there be any to help. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2910">[<a href="#xd31e2910">85</a>]</span></p>
-<p class="line">Smoke clouds hide the sun </p>
-<p class="line">Through the ages </p>
-<p class="line in4">Your sons shall curse you. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Wash yourselves— </p>
-<p class="line in4">The divine likeness in you </p>
-<p class="line in8">defile not with slime. </p>
-<p class="line">Befool not your children </p>
-<p class="line in4">that they were born to the world </p>
-<p class="line in8">to be lordlings. </p>
-<p class="line">The eyes of men untaught </p>
-<p class="line in4">see deep, deep </p>
-<p class="line in8">into your soul. </p>
-<p class="line">Poor things they may he, </p>
-<p class="line in4">yet they know the ass </p>
-<p class="line in8">in the lion’s skin. </p>
-<p class="line">And they will judge you, </p>
-<p class="line in4">the foolish will pronounce the doom </p>
-<p class="line in8">of the wise. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure o085width"><img src="images/o081-2.png" alt="Ornament." width="81" height="22"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2948">[<a href="#xd31e2948">86</a>]</span>
-</p>
-<div class="lg">
-<div class="lg">
-<h4>II.</h4>
-<p class="line">Did you but study as you should, </p>
-<p class="line">You would possess your own wisdom; </p>
-<p class="line">And you might creep up to heaven. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">But it is we— </p>
-<p class="line in8">Oh, no, not we; </p>
-<p class="line in4">It is I—no, no, not I. </p>
-<p class="line">I’ve seen it all, I know it. </p>
-<p class="line">There’s neither heaven nor hell, </p>
-<p class="line">Not even God— </p>
-<p class="line in4">Just I and the short, fat German, </p>
-<p class="line in8">Nothing more. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Grand, my brother. </p>
-<p class="line">You ask me something, </p>
-<p class="line in4">“I don’t know, </p>
-<p class="line in8">Ask the German, </p>
-<p class="line in8">He’ll tell you.” </p>
-<p class="line">That’s the way you learn </p>
-<p class="line in4">in foreign lands. </p>
-<p class="line">The German says— </p>
-<p class="line in4">“You are Mongols. </p>
-<p class="line in8">Mongols, Mongols; </p>
-<p class="line">Naked children </p>
-<p class="line in4">of the golden Tamerlane.” </p>
-<p class="line">The German says— </p>
-<p class="line in4">“You are Slavs, </p>
-<p class="line in8">Slavs, Slavs; <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2995">[<a href="#xd31e2995">87</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">Ugly offspring </p>
-<p class="line in4">of famous ancestors.” </p>
-<p class="line">You read the writings </p>
-<p class="line in4">of the great Slavophils, </p>
-<p class="line">Push in among them, </p>
-<p class="line in4">Get on so well </p>
-<p class="line">That you know all the tongues </p>
-<p class="line in4">of the Slavonic peoples </p>
-<p class="line">Except your own—God help it. </p>
-<p class="line">“Oh, as for that </p>
-<p class="line in4">Sometime we’ll speak </p>
-<p class="line in8">our own language </p>
-<p class="line">When the German </p>
-<p class="line in4">shows us how, </p>
-<p class="line">Our history too, </p>
-<p class="line in4">he will explain, </p>
-<p class="line">Then we’ll be alright!” </p>
-<p class="line">It came about finely </p>
-<p class="line in4">on the German advice. </p>
-<p class="line">They learned to speak so well </p>
-<p class="line in4">That even the mighty German </p>
-<p class="line in8">could not understand them, </p>
-<p class="line">Not to speak of common folks. </p>
-<p class="line">Oh what a noise and racket! </p>
-<p class="line">“There’s Harmony, and Force </p>
-<p class="line">And Music—and everything. </p>
-<p class="line">And as for History </p>
-<p class="line">The Epic of a free people! </p>
-<p class="line">What’s all this about the poor Romans, </p>
-<p class="line">Brutus, etcetera, and the Devil knows what? </p>
-<p class="line">Have we not our Brutuses <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3043">[<a href="#xd31e3043">88</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line in4">and our Cocles </p>
-<p class="line">Glorious and never to be forgotten? </p>
-<p class="line">Why freedom grew up with us </p>
-<p class="line">Bathed in the Dnieper </p>
-<p class="line">Rested her head on our hills, </p>
-<p class="line">The far-flung Steppes </p>
-<p class="line in4">are her garments.” </p>
-<p class="line">Alas! ’twas in blood she bathed </p>
-<p class="line">Pillowed her head on burial mounds </p>
-<p class="line in4">On bodies of Cossack freemen, </p>
-<p class="line in8">Corpses despoiled. </p>
-<p class="line">But look ye well </p>
-<p class="line in4">Read again of that glory! </p>
-<p class="line">Read it, word by word, </p>
-<p class="line">Miss not a jot nor tittle, </p>
-<p class="line">Grasp it all: </p>
-<p class="line in4">Then ask yourselves— </p>
-<p class="line">Who are we? Whose sons? </p>
-<p class="line in4">Of what fathers? </p>
-<p class="line in8">By whom and why enchained? </p>
-<p class="line">Then you shall see </p>
-<p class="line in4">Who your glorious Brutuses are. </p>
-<p class="line">Slaves, door-mats! </p>
-<p class="line in4">mud of Moscow </p>
-<p class="line in8">scum of Warsaw </p>
-<p class="line in12">are your lords; </p>
-<p class="line">Glorious heroes they are. </p>
-<p class="line">Why are you so proud </p>
-<p class="line">Sons of unhappy Ukraine. </p>
-<p class="line">That you go so well under the yoke? </p>
-<p class="line">Even better you go <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3091">[<a href="#xd31e3091">89</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line in4">than your fathers went. </p>
-<p class="line">Don’t brag so much, </p>
-<p class="line in4">they just skin you, </p>
-<p class="line">They rendered out your fathers’ bones </p>
-<p class="line">Perhaps you are proud </p>
-<p class="line in4">that your brotherhood </p>
-<p class="line in8">has defended the faith. </p>
-<p class="line">You cooked your dough-nuts </p>
-<p class="line in4">o’er the fires </p>
-<p class="line in8">of burning Turkish towns, </p>
-<p class="line">of Sinope and Trebizond. </p>
-<p class="line in4">True for you </p>
-<p class="line in8">And you ate them </p>
-<p class="line">And now they pain you, </p>
-<p class="line">And on your own fields </p>
-<p class="line in4">the wily German </p>
-<p class="line in8">plants potatoes. </p>
-<p class="line">You buy them from him, </p>
-<p class="line in2">eat them for the good of your health </p>
-<p class="line in4">and praise Cossackery. </p>
-<p class="line">But with whose blood </p>
-<p class="line in4">was the land sprinkled </p>
-<p class="line in8">that grew the potatoes? </p>
-<p class="line">Oh, that’s a trifle; </p>
-<p class="line in4">so long as it’s good for the garden. </p>
-<p class="line">Very proud you are </p>
-<p class="line in4">that we once destroyed Poland. </p>
-<p class="line">Very true indeed: </p>
-<p class="line in4">Poland fell, </p>
-<p class="line in8">but fell on top of us. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3144">[<a href="#xd31e3144">90</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">So your fathers shed their blood </p>
-<p class="line in4">for Moscow and for Warsaw, </p>
-<p class="line">And left to you, their sons </p>
-<p class="line in4">their fetters and their glory. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure p090width"><img src="images/p075.png" alt="Farmer’s house." width="302" height="230"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3157">[<a href="#xd31e3157">91</a>]</span>
-</p>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<h4>III.</h4>
-<p class="line">To the very limit </p>
-<p class="line in8">has our country come, </p>
-<p class="line">Her own children </p>
-<p class="line in4">crucify her </p>
-<p class="line in4">worse than the Poles. </p>
-<p class="line">How like beer </p>
-<p class="line in4">they draw off </p>
-<p class="line in8">her righteous blood. </p>
-<p class="line">They would, you see </p>
-<p class="line in4">enlighten the maternal eyes </p>
-<p class="line in8">with everlasting fires; </p>
-<p class="line">Lead on the poor blind cripple </p>
-<p class="line in4">after the spirit of the age, </p>
-<p class="line in4">German fashion! </p>
-<p class="line">Fine, go ahead, </p>
-<p class="line in4">show us the way! </p>
-<p class="line">Let the old mother learn </p>
-<p class="line in4">how to look after such children </p>
-<p class="line">Show away! </p>
-<p class="line in4">For this instruction, </p>
-<p class="line">Don’t worry— </p>
-<p class="line in4">Good motherly reward will be. </p>
-<p class="line">The illusion fades </p>
-<p class="line in4">from your greedy eyes </p>
-<p class="line">Glory shall you see, </p>
-<p class="line in4">such glory as fits </p>
-<p class="line in8">the sons of deceitful sires. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">To study then, my brothers, </p>
-<p class="line">Think and read, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3211">[<a href="#xd31e3211">92</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">Learn from the foreigner </p>
-<p class="line">Despise not your own<span class="corr" id="xd31e3216" title="Not in source">.</span> </p>
-<p class="line">Who forgets his mother </p>
-<p class="line">Him God will punish. </p>
-<p class="line">Foreigners will despise him </p>
-<p class="line">Nor admit him to their homes; </p>
-<p class="line">His children shall as strangers be </p>
-<p class="line">Nor shall he find happiness on earth. </p>
-<p class="line">I weep when I remember </p>
-<p class="line in4">the deeds of our fathers, </p>
-<p class="line in8">deeds I can not forget. </p>
-<p class="line">Heavy on my heart they lie; </p>
-<p class="line in4">Half my life I’d give </p>
-<p class="line in8">could I forget them. </p>
-<p class="line">Such is our glory </p>
-<p class="line in4">the glory of Ukraine. </p>
-<p class="line">So read then </p>
-<p class="line in4">that ye may see </p>
-<p class="line">Not in dream </p>
-<p class="line in4">but in vision </p>
-<p class="line in4">All the wrongs that lie </p>
-<p class="line in6">beneath yon mighty tombs. </p>
-<p class="line">Ask then of the martyrs </p>
-<p class="line in4">by whom, when and for what </p>
-<p class="line in8">were they crucified. </p>
-<p class="line">Embrace then </p>
-<p class="line in4">brothers mine— </p>
-<p class="line">The least of your brethren. </p>
-<p class="line">That your mother may smile again, </p>
-<p class="line">Smile through her tears. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3261">[<a href="#xd31e3261">93</a>]</span></p>
-<p class="line">Give blessings to your children </p>
-<p class="line in4">with hard toiler’s hands; </p>
-<p class="line">With free lips kiss them </p>
-<p class="line in4">when they are washed and clad. </p>
-<p class="line">Forget the shameful past </p>
-<p class="line">And the true glory shall live again, </p>
-<p class="line in4">the glory of the Ukraine. </p>
-<p class="line">And clear light of day </p>
-<p class="line in4">not twilight gloom </p>
-<p class="line">Shall gently shine. </p>
-<p class="line">Love one another, my brothers, </p>
-<p class="line">I pray you—I plead. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure p093width"><img src="images/p071.png" alt="Woman carrying yoke with two buckets on shoulder." width="98" height="122"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3283">[<a href="#xd31e3283">94</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="freedom" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e442">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<div class="figure"><img src="images/o079.png" alt="Freedom and Friends" width="631" height="175"></div>
-<h2 class="main">Freedom and Friends</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"><i>With his new freedom Shevchenko finds himself in a different world. Not only does
-he meet the most brilliant people of the Russian Capital—scientists, artists, generals,
-nobles are his intimates. Count Tolstoi and Prince and Princess Repnin are his patrons.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>He is introduced, too, in Russian or Polish translations to the great authors of other
-lands and times,—Greece and Rome, Germany and Britain offer him their treasures.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>To us it is interesting to know that Byron, Walter Scott, and Shakespeare profoundly
-influenced him.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>But a conflict of spirit now faces him. His worldly interests and his judgment advise
-him to go on with his painting. But strange music seems to ring in his ears. It is
-the music of his beautiful and suffering Ukraine. Songs seem to come to him from the
-wind and he writes them down.</i>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3300">[<a href="#xd31e3300">95</a>]</span></p>
-<p><i>They are in the peasant language of the Ukraine.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>His ‘Kobzar’ appears in its first edition, with eight poems, in 1840. It is like a
-lightning flash through Russia.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>Great Russian critics sneered at it, saying it was in the <span class="corr" id="xd31e3310" title="Source: longuage">language</span> of the swineherds. But the whole Ukraine recognized it as the voice of their suppressed
-nation. The down-trodden masses of all Russia knew that they had found a spokesman.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>Shevchenko was now famous but he had chosen, without knowing it, ‘The Way of the Cross.’</i>
-</p>
-<p></p>
-<div class="figure p095width"><img src="images/p067.png" alt="House with well." width="243" height="91"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3321">[<a href="#xd31e3321">96</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="dream" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e257">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<div class="figure"><img src="images/o030.png" alt="A Dream" width="626" height="154"></div>
-<h2 class="main">A Dream</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"><i>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 <span id="xd31e3329"></span>miseries of his native land and who desired to spend the last hours of his life there.</i>
-</p>
-<p></p>
-<div class="figure o096width"><img src="images/o096.jpg" alt="Ornament: decorated egg pointing left." width="132" height="83"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3336">[<a href="#xd31e3336">97</a>]</span>
-</p>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Oh my lofty hills— </p>
-<p class="line">Yet not so lofty </p>
-<p class="line">But beautiful ye are. </p>
-<p class="line">Sky-blue in the distance; </p>
-<p class="line">Older than old Pereyaslav, </p>
-<p class="line">Or the tombs of Vebla, </p>
-<p class="line">Like those clouds that rest </p>
-<p class="line">Beyond the Dnieper. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">I walk with quiet step, </p>
-<p class="line">And watch the wonders peeping out. </p>
-<p class="line">Out of the clouds march silently </p>
-<p class="line">Scarped cliff and bush and solitary tree; </p>
-<p class="line">White cottages creep forth </p>
-<p class="line">Like children in white garments, </p>
-<p class="line">Playing in the valley’s gloom. </p>
-<p class="line">And far below our gray old Cossack, </p>
-<p class="line">The Dnieper, sings musically </p>
-<p class="line">Amid the woods. </p>
-<p class="line">And then beyond the Dnieper on the hillside, </p>
-<p class="line">The little Cossack church </p>
-<p class="line">Stands like a chapel, </p>
-<p class="line">With its leaning cross. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Long it stands there, gazing, waiting, </p>
-<p class="line">For the Cossacks from the Delta; </p>
-<p class="line">To the Dnieper prattles, </p>
-<p class="line">Telling all its woe </p>
-<p class="line">From its green-stained windows, </p>
-<p class="line">Like eyes of the dead, </p>
-<p class="line">It peeps as from the tomb. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3373">[<a href="#xd31e3373">98</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">Dost thou look for restoration? </p>
-<p class="line">Expect not such glory. </p>
-<p class="line">Robbed are thy people. </p>
-<p class="line">For what care the wicked lords </p>
-<p class="line">For the ancient Cossack fame? </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">And Traktemir above the hill </p>
-<p class="line">Scatters its wretched houses </p>
-<p class="line">Like a drunken beggar’s bags. </p>
-<p class="line">And there is old Manaster </p>
-<p class="line">Once a Cossack town. </p>
-<p class="line">Is that the one that used to be? </p>
-<p class="line">All, all is gone, as a playground for the kings </p>
-<p class="line">The land of the Zaporogues and the village </p>
-<p class="line">All, all the greedy ones have taken. </p>
-<p class="line">And you hills, you permitted it! </p>
-<p class="line">May no one look on you more </p>
-<p class="line">Cursed ones!—No! No! </p>
-<p class="line">Not you I curse, </p>
-<p class="line">But our quarreling generals, </p>
-<p class="line">And the inhuman Poles. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Forgive me, my lofty ones, </p>
-<p class="line">Lofty ones and blue, </p>
-<p class="line">Finest in the world, and holiest, </p>
-<p class="line">Forgive me, I pray God. </p>
-<p class="line">For so I love my poor Ukraina, </p>
-<p class="line">I might blaspheme the holy God, </p>
-<p class="line">And for her lose my soul. </p>
-<p class="line">On a curve of lofty <span class="corr" id="xd31e3408" title="Source: Trektemir">Traktemir</span> </p>
-<p class="line">A lonely cottage like an orphan stands, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3413">[<a href="#xd31e3413">99</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">Ready to plunge from off the height </p>
-<p class="line">To loved Dnieper, far below. </p>
-<p class="line">From that house Ukraina is seen, </p>
-<p class="line">And all the land of the Hetmans. </p>
-<p class="line">Beside the house an old gray father sits. </p>
-<p class="line">Beyond the river the sun goes down </p>
-<p class="line">As he sits, and looks, and sadly thinks. </p>
-<p class="line">“Alas, Alas!” the old man cries, </p>
-<p class="line">“Fools, that lost this land of God, </p>
-<p class="line">The Hetmans’ land.” </p>
-<p class="line">His brow with thought is clouded, </p>
-<p class="line">Something bitter he would have said </p>
-<p class="line">But did not. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">“Much have I wandered in the world, </p>
-<p class="line">In peasant’s coat and garb of lord. </p>
-<p class="line">How is it beyond the Ural, </p>
-<p class="line">Among the Kirghiz, Tartars? </p>
-<p class="line">Good God, even there it is better </p>
-<p class="line">Than in our Ukraina. </p>
-<p class="line">Perhaps because the Kirghiz </p>
-<p class="line">Are not Christians. </p>
-<p class="line">Much evil hast thou done, Oh Christ, </p>
-<p class="line">Hast changed the people God had made. </p>
-<p class="line">Our Cossacks lost their foolish heads </p>
-<p class="line">For truth, and the Christian faith. </p>
-<p class="line">Much blood they shed, their own and others. </p>
-<p class="line">And were they better for it? </p>
-<p class="line">Bah! No! They were ten times worse. </p>
-<p class="line">Apart from knife and auto-da-fe </p>
-<p class="line">They have chained up the people, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3449">[<a href="#xd31e3449">100</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">And they kill them. </p>
-<p class="line">Oh gentlemen, Christian gentlemen!” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">My grey old man, with sorrow beaten, </p>
-<p class="line">Ceased, and bent his brave old head. </p>
-<p class="line">The evening sun gilded the woods, </p>
-<p class="line">The river and fields were covered with gold. </p>
-<p class="line">Mazeppa’s cathedral in whiteness shines; </p>
-<p class="line">Great Bogdan’s tomb is gleaming, </p>
-<p class="line">The willows bend o’er the road to Kiev, </p>
-<p class="line">And hide the Three Brothers’ ancient graves. </p>
-<p class="line">Trubail and Alta, mid the reeds </p>
-<p class="line">Approach, unite in sisterly embrace. </p>
-<p class="line">Everything, everything gladdens the eyes, </p>
-<p class="line">But the heart is sad and will not see. </p>
-<p class="line">The glowing sun has bade farewell </p>
-<p class="line">To the dark land. </p>
-<p class="line">The round moon rises with her sister star, </p>
-<p class="line">Out they step from behind the clouds. </p>
-<p class="line">The clouds rejoiced </p>
-<p class="line">But the old man gazed, </p>
-<p class="line">And his tears rolled down. </p>
-<p class="line">“I pray Thee, merciful God, </p>
-<p class="line">Mighty Lord, Heavenly Judge, </p>
-<p class="line">Suffer me not to perish; </p>
-<p class="line">Grant me strength to overcome my woe. </p>
-<p class="line">To live out my life on these sacred hills: </p>
-<p class="line">To glorify Thee and rejoice in Thy beauty, </p>
-<p class="line">And at last, though beaten by the people’s sins. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3483">[<a href="#xd31e3483">101</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">To be buried on these lofty hills, </p>
-<p class="line">And to abide on them.” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">He dried his tears, </p>
-<p class="line">Hot tears, though not the tears of youth; </p>
-<p class="line">And thought on the blessed years of long ago </p>
-<p class="line">Where was this? </p>
-<p class="line">What, how, and when? </p>
-<p class="line">Was it truth, or was it dream? </p>
-<p class="line">On what seas have I been sailing? </p>
-<p class="line">The green wood in the twilight, </p>
-<p class="line">The maiden with eyebrows dark, </p>
-<p class="line">The moon at rest among the stars, </p>
-<p class="line">The nightingale on the viburnum, </p>
-<p class="line">Whether in silence or in song </p>
-<p class="line">Praising the Holy God. </p>
-<p class="line">And all, all is in Ukraina. </p>
-<p class="line">The old man smiled— </p>
-<p class="line">Well, it may be—you can’t avoid the truth </p>
-<p class="line">So it was—they wooed, </p>
-<p class="line">They parted, they did not marry. </p>
-<p class="line">She left him to live alone, </p>
-<p class="line">To live out his life. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">The old man was sad again, </p>
-<p class="line">Wandered long about the house, </p>
-<p class="line">Then prayed to God, </p>
-<p class="line">Went in the house to sleep, </p>
-<p class="line">And the moon was swathed in clouds. </p>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3515">[<a href="#xd31e3515">102</a>]</span></p>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Thus in a foreign land </p>
-<p class="line">I dreamed my dream, </p>
-<p class="line">As if born again to the world </p>
-<p class="line">In freedom once more. </p>
-<p class="line">Grant me, Oh God, some time, </p>
-<p class="line">In old age, perchance, </p>
-<p class="line">To stand again on these stolen hills, </p>
-<p class="line">In a little cottage, </p>
-<p class="line">To bring my heart eaten out with sorrow </p>
-<p class="line">To rest at last, on the hills above the Dnieper. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure p102width"><img src="images/p077.png" alt="Weeping willow with boat." width="196" height="242"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3531">[<a href="#xd31e3531">103</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="triumphal" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e449">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<div class="figure"><img src="images/o103.png" alt="A Triumphal March" width="615" height="159"></div>
-<h2 class="main">A Triumphal March</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"><i>In 1845 Shevchenko was graduated from the Imperial Academy of Arts at Petersburg.
-Shortly after he travelled to the Ukraine, purposing to devote his life to the service
-of his own people.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>His progress was a triumphal march, a succession of banquets and popular welcomes
-and entertainments at the homes of the wealthy.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>At Kiev people still remember that the earliest Russian civilization had its beginnings
-in the Ukraine. There Christianity first took root, and there were the first Russian
-Princes.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>Before Shevchenko’s arrival there was organized at Kiev the Society of Cyril and Methodius,
-called after the great apostles of Russia, and the leading spirits of the Society
-were professors in the University of Kiev.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>Into this brilliant company Shevchenko was welcomed. Its leaders became his devoted
-friends. A chair of painting in the University was to be established for him.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>Most remarkable were the relations between Shevchenko and Professor Kulisch. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3554">[<a href="#xd31e3554">104</a>]</span>Kulisch was to be married to a great lady, a daughter of one of the nobles of the
-country. The poet was invited to the wedding and the bride, in her enthusiasm, actually
-kissed his hand. This was an astonishing act of condescension towards one who had
-been a serf, but this lady, herself afterwards a famous authoress, cherished the memory
-to her dying day.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>Shevchenko’s saddest experience in the Ukraine was when he visited his native village
-and found his brothers and sisters in serfdom. His dream was to earn enough money
-to purchase their freedom, and afterwards to devote his life to the liberation of
-the peasantry. The poem—“The Bondwoman’s Dream”—commemorates the poet’s meeting with
-his favorite sister, Katherine, working as a slave.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>His friends thought he should go to Italy to perfect himself in painting. Madame Kulisch
-purposed to sell her family jewels to raise sufficient money to send Shevchenko to
-that country. Her husband who was in the plot told Shevchenko that some wealthy person
-had contributed the money but he must not ask for the donor’s name.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>But on returning to Kiev from the Kulisch home a policeman put his hand on the shoulder
-of the poet painter.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>The bright dream was ended.</i>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3569">[<a href="#xd31e3569">105</a>]</span>
-</p>
-<div class="figure p105width"><img src="images/p105.jpg" alt="Shevchenko meets his sister." width="577" height="398"><p class="figureHead">Shevchenko meets his sister.</p>
-</div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3574">[<a href="#xd31e3574">106</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="bondwoman" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e264">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">The Bondwoman’s Dream</h2>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<p class="line">The slave with sickle </p>
-<p class="line in4">reaped the wheat, </p>
-<p class="line">Then wearily limped </p>
-<p class="line in4">among the stooks; </p>
-<p class="line">But not to rest, </p>
-<p class="line">Her little son she sought </p>
-<p class="line">Who wakened crying </p>
-<p class="line in4">in cool nest </p>
-<p class="line in8">among the sheaves. </p>
-<p class="line">His swaddled limbs unwrapped </p>
-<p class="line in4">she nourished him, </p>
-<p class="line">Then, dandling him a moment </p>
-<p class="line in4">fell asleep. </p>
-<p class="line">In dreams she saw </p>
-<p class="line in4">her little son, </p>
-<p class="line">Her Johnny, grown to man, </p>
-<p class="line in4">handsome and rich. </p>
-<p class="line">No lonely bachelor </p>
-<p class="line in4">but a married man </p>
-<p class="line">In freedom it seemed, </p>
-<p class="line in4">no longer the landlord’s </p>
-<p class="line in8">but his own man. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3613">[<a href="#xd31e3613">107</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">And in their own joyous field </p>
-<p class="line in4">his wife and he </p>
-<p class="line in8">reaped their own wheat, </p>
-<p class="line">Their children brought their food. </p>
-<p class="line in4">The poor thing </p>
-<p class="line in8">laughed in her sleep, </p>
-<p class="line">Woke up— </p>
-<p class="line in4">a dream indeed it was. </p>
-<p class="line">She looked at Johnny, </p>
-<p class="line in4">picked him up and swaddled him, </p>
-<p class="line">And back to her allotted task; </p>
-<p class="line">Sixty stooks her stint. </p>
-<p class="line">Perhaps the last of the sixty it was: </p>
-<p class="line in4">God grant it. </p>
-<p class="line">And God grant </p>
-<p class="line in4">this dream of thine </p>
-<p class="line in8">may be fulfilled. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure p107width"><img src="images/p125.png" alt="Ornament: stylished dove." width="241" height="152"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3647">[<a href="#xd31e3647">108</a>]</span>
-</p>
-<div class="figure p108width"><img src="images/p108.jpg" alt="Shevchenko’s birthplace." width="680" height="380"><p class="figureHead">Shevchenko’s birthplace.</p>
-</div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3652">[<a href="#xd31e3652">109</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="sentimental" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e271">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">To the Makers of Sentimental Idyls.</h2>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Did you but know, fine dandy, </p>
-<p class="line">The people’s life of misery </p>
-<p class="line">You would not use such pretty phrases, </p>
-<p class="line">Nor give to God such empty praises. </p>
-<p class="line">At our tears you’re laughing, </p>
-<p class="line">And our sorrows chaffing, </p>
-<p class="line">Slave’s cot in a shady spot— </p>
-<p class="line">You call it heaven! Rot! </p>
-<p class="line">I lived once in such a shanty, </p>
-<p class="line">Of childhood’s tears I shed a plenty, </p>
-<p class="line">In bitter sorrows we were wise, </p>
-<p class="line">Home that you call paradise. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">No paradise I call thee, </p>
-<p class="line">Little cottage in the wood, </p>
-<p class="line">With the water pure beside thee </p>
-<p class="line">Close by the village rude! </p>
-<p class="line">There my mother bore me, </p>
-<p class="line">Singing she tended me; </p>
-<p class="line">My child’s heart drank in her pain. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Cottage in the shady dell, </p>
-<p class="line">Heaven outside, inside hell; <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3683">[<a href="#xd31e3683">110</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">But slavery there, </p>
-<p class="line in4">with labor weary, </p>
-<p class="line">Nor time for prayer </p>
-<p class="line in4">in life so dreary. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">My mother good to her early grave </p>
-<p class="line">Was hurled by sorrows wave on wave. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">The father weeping o’er his young, </p>
-<p class="line in6">(little and naked were we), </p>
-<p class="line">Sank ’neath the weight of fated wrong </p>
-<p class="line">And died in slavery. </p>
-<p class="line">The children, we, of home bereft </p>
-<p class="line">Like little mice ’mong <span class="corr" id="xd31e3703" title="Source: neigbors">neighbors</span> crept. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Water drawer was I at school, </p>
-<p class="line">My brothers toiled ’neath landlord’s rule. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">For my sisters an evil fate must be, </p>
-<p class="line">Though little doves they seemed to me; </p>
-<p class="line">Into life as serfs they’re born, </p>
-<p class="line">And die they must in that lot forlorn. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">I shudder yet, where’er I roam, </p>
-<p class="line">When I think of life in that village home. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Evil-doers, Oh God, are we, </p>
-<p class="line">An earthly heaven we had from Thee, </p>
-<p class="line">Turned it into hell have we, </p>
-<p class="line">And a second heaven is now our plea. </p>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3722">[<a href="#xd31e3722">111</a>]</span></p>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Gently we live with our brothers now, </p>
-<p class="line">With their lives our fields we plough; </p>
-<p class="line">Fields that with their tears are wet, </p>
-<p class="line">And yet— </p>
-<p class="line">What do we know? </p>
-<p class="line in4">yet it seems as if Thou! </p>
-<p class="line">(For without Thy will </p>
-<p class="line">Should we suffer ill?) </p>
-<p class="line">Dost Thou, Oh Father in heaven holy </p>
-<p class="line">Laugh at us the poor and lowly? </p>
-<p class="line">Advise with them of noble birth </p>
-<p class="line">How so cleverly to rule the earth? </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">For see the woods their branches waving, </p>
-<p class="line">And there beyond, the white pool gleaming </p>
-<p class="line">And willows o’er the water bending, </p>
-<p class="line">Garden of Eden it is in sooth, </p>
-<p class="line">But of its deeds enquire the truth. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">This wondrous earth should tell a story </p>
-<p class="line">Of endless joy, and praise, and glory </p>
-<p class="line">To Thee, Oh God, unique and holy. </p>
-<p class="line">Unhallowed spot, </p>
-<p class="line">Whence praise comes not! </p>
-<p class="line">A world of tears where curses rise, </p>
-<p class="line">To heaven above the hopeless skies. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure p111width"><img src="images/p008.png" alt="Ornament: cither." width="200" height="62"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3757">[<a href="#xd31e3757">112</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="autocrat" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e456">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">Autocrat Versus Poet</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"><i>Nicholas I was brought up in the traditions of autocracy and believed in them with
-all his heart. He hated liberal thought and detested the idea of educating the masses.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>Tens of thousands of copies of the New Testament and the Psalter were burned by his
-orders. He said such books were for the priests, not for the common people. Incidentally
-it may be remarked that the priests had to teach what he wanted or lose their jobs.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>To speak against his government, or even to criticize czars who reigned hundreds of
-years before him was a crime.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>The little band of dreamers who formed the Society of Cyril and Methodius actually
-hoped to convert this autocrat, and secure his assistance in freeing the people. They
-had visions of a free Confederation of Slavonic states, after the pattern of the United
-States of America, but with the czar as head. But they sadly misjudged their man.</i>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3773">[<a href="#xd31e3773">113</a>]</span></p>
-<p><i><span class="corr" id="xd31e3776" title="Source: Shechenko">Shevchenko</span> had actually spoken impertinently of the Autocrat in his poems. He refused to retract.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>The government really wished to he lenient, if he would only be good and confess that
-he had done wrong. But Shevchenko was not of those who are willing to admit that black
-is white.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>The gloomy autocracy now pronounces his doom—a sort of living death in Siberian barracks.
-The czar added to the sentence, with his own hand, the proviso that he should not
-be allowed either to write or to paint.</i>
-</p>
-<p></p>
-<div class="figure p113width"><img src="images/p027.png" alt="Three persons resting in field." width="293" height="152"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3790">[<a href="#xd31e3790">114</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="exile" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e282">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<div class="figure"><img src="images/o079.png" alt="A Poem of Exile" width="631" height="175"></div>
-<h2 class="main">A Poem of Exile</h2>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">I count in prison the days and nights </p>
-<p class="line">And then forget the count. </p>
-<p class="line">How heavily, Oh Lord, </p>
-<p class="line">Do these days pass! </p>
-<p class="line">And the years flow after them, </p>
-<p class="line">Quietly they flow, </p>
-<p class="line">Bearing with them </p>
-<p class="line">Good and ill. </p>
-<p class="line">Everything do they gather </p>
-<p class="line">Never do they return. </p>
-<p class="line">You need not plead, </p>
-<p class="line">Your prayers unanswered fall. </p>
-<p class="line">Mid oozy swamps </p>
-<p class="line in4">among the weeds </p>
-<p class="line">Year after weary year </p>
-<p class="line in4">has sadly flowed. </p>
-<p class="line">Much of something have they taken </p>
-<p class="line">From dark store-house of my heart; </p>
-<p class="line">Borne it quietly to the sea, </p>
-<p class="line in4">As quietly the sea swallowed it. </p>
-<p class="line">Not gold and silver </p>
-<p class="line in4">Did they take from me, </p>
-<p class="line">But good years of mine </p>
-<p class="line in4">Freighted with loneliness, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3829">[<a href="#xd31e3829">115</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">Sorrows written on the heart </p>
-<p class="line in4">With unseen pen. </p>
-<p class="line">And a fourth year passes </p>
-<p class="line in4">So gently, so slowly, </p>
-<p class="line">The fourth book </p>
-<p class="line in4">of my imprisonment </p>
-<p class="line">I start to stitch up, </p>
-<p class="line">Embroidering it with tears </p>
-<p class="line in4">Of homesickness </p>
-<p class="line in8">in a foreign land. </p>
-<p class="line">Yet such woe </p>
-<p class="line in4">tells itself not in words. </p>
-<p class="line">Never, never </p>
-<p class="line in4">in the wide world. </p>
-<p class="line">In far away captivity </p>
-<p class="line in4">There are no words </p>
-<p class="line">Not even tears, </p>
-<p class="line in4">Just nothingness; </p>
-<p class="line">Not even God above thee, </p>
-<p class="line">Nothing is there to see, </p>
-<p class="line">None with whom to speak, </p>
-<p class="line">Not even desire for life. </p>
-<p class="line">Yet thou must live! </p>
-<p class="line">I must! I must! </p>
-<p class="line in4">But for what? </p>
-<p class="line">That I may not lose my soul? </p>
-<p class="line">My soul is not worth </p>
-<p class="line in4">such suffering! </p>
-<p class="line">Then why must I live on </p>
-<p class="line in4">in the world, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3875">[<a href="#xd31e3875">116</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">Drag these fetters </p>
-<p class="line in4">in my jail? </p>
-<p class="line">Because, perchance, </p>
-<p class="line in4">my own Ukraine </p>
-<p class="line">I shall see again. </p>
-<p class="line">Again I shall pour out </p>
-<p class="line in4">my words of sorrow </p>
-<p class="line">To the green groves </p>
-<p class="line in4">and rich meadows. </p>
-<p class="line">No family have I of my own </p>
-<p class="line in4">in all Ukraine, </p>
-<p class="line">Yet the people there </p>
-<p class="line in4">are different from these foreigners </p>
-<p class="line">I would walk again </p>
-<p class="line in4">among the bright villages </p>
-<p class="line">On the Dnieper’s banks </p>
-<p class="line in4">and sing my thoughts </p>
-<p class="line in8">gentle and sad. </p>
-<p class="line">Grant me, </p>
-<p class="line in4">Oh God of mercy </p>
-<p class="line">That I may live </p>
-<p class="line in4">to see again </p>
-<p class="line">Those green meadows, </p>
-<p class="line in4">those ancestral tombs. </p>
-<p class="line">If Thou wilt not grant this, </p>
-<p class="line in4">Yet bear my tears </p>
-<p class="line">To my Ukraine. </p>
-<p class="line in4">Because, God, </p>
-<p class="line">I die for her. </p>
-<p class="line">It may be that I shall lie </p>
-<p class="line in4">more lightly in foreign soil <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3926">[<a href="#xd31e3926">117</a>]</span></p>
-<p class="line">When sometimes in Ukraine </p>
-<p class="line in4">they speak of my memory. </p>
-<p class="line">Carry my tears then </p>
-<p class="line in4">Oh God of loving kindness, </p>
-<p class="line">Or at least </p>
-<p class="line in4">send hope into my soul. </p>
-<p class="line">I can think no more </p>
-<p class="line in4">with my poor head, </p>
-<p class="line">For coldness of death </p>
-<p class="line in4">comes on me </p>
-<p class="line">When I think that they may </p>
-<p class="line in4">bury me in foreign soil </p>
-<p class="line">And bury my thoughts with me </p>
-<p class="line in4">And none tell about me </p>
-<p class="line in8">in the Ukraine. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">And yet it may be </p>
-<p class="line in4">that gently through the years </p>
-<p class="line">My tear-embroidered songs </p>
-<p class="line in4">shall fly sometime </p>
-<p class="line">And fall </p>
-<p class="line in4">as dew upon the ground </p>
-<p class="line">On the tender heart of youth, </p>
-<p class="line">And youth shall nod assent. </p>
-<p class="line">And weep for me </p>
-<p class="line">Making mention of me in its prayers. </p>
-<p class="line">Well, as it will be </p>
-<p class="line in4">so it will be. </p>
-<p class="line">Perhaps ’twill swim </p>
-<p class="line in4">Perhaps ’twill wade </p>
-<p class="line">Yet even if they crucify me for it </p>
-<p class="line">I’ll still write my verses. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3975">[<a href="#xd31e3975">118</a>]</span></p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="siberian" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e463">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<div class="figure"><img src="images/o067.png" alt="Siberian Exile" width="628" height="155"></div>
-<h2 class="main">Siberian Exile</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"><i>Now-a-days we have many discussions and searchings of heart over the question of prisons
-and the purpose of punishment. I doubt if the autocracy suffered many qualms of conscience
-in such matters. It was simply an affair of silencing a dangerous voice and disciplining
-an unruly subject.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>They were too humane to put him to death, they merely sought to crush his spirit.
-But the Slav spirit is hard to crush. It may brood and smoulder long, but sometime
-or other it will burst out in flames.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>In the case of Shevchenko another influence may be seen at work. In his ragged youth,
-when acting as assistant to a drunken church singer he gained at least one thing.
-That was a familiarity with the Psalter and the Hebrew prophets. The deep religious
-fire of the Hebrew seems fused with his own irrepressible native genius to form a
-spirit that could not be subdued.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>They tried to make a soldier of him but he could not or would not learn the tricks
-of the soldier’s trade.</i>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3991">[<a href="#xd31e3991">119</a>]</span></p>
-<p><i>They forbade him to write but he wrote verses secretly and concealed them.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>Occasionally a humane commander would relax the severity of the rules. One governor
-allowed him as a hidden favor the reading of the Bible and Shakespeare.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>At another time he was taken with a scientific expedition to the Sea of Aral, and
-employed in the congenial task of painting the wild scenery of that part.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>At other times again the severity would be redoubled and pen, ink and paper would
-be forbidden. Through it all his love and sorrow for his native land increased. Only
-the remembrance of Ukraine kept him alive.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>Ten years of Siberia changed the gay young artist of bright eyes and abundant locks
-to a gray-bearded, bald-headed old man on whom Death had set his seal.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>But his spirit was still unconquered. At the end of his imprisonment he wrote the
-“Goddess of Fame” and the “Hymn of the Nuns” to show it.</i>
-</p>
-<p></p>
-<div class="figure p119width"><img src="images/p067.png" alt="House with well." width="243" height="91"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4015">[<a href="#xd31e4015">120</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="memories" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e289">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">Memories of Freedom</h2>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Memories of Freedom </p>
-<p class="line">Bring sweet sadness to the exile’s heart </p>
-<p class="line">And so lost liberty of mine </p>
-<p class="line">I dream of thee. </p>
-<p class="line">Never hast thou seemed to me </p>
-<p class="line">So fresh and young </p>
-<p class="line">And so surpassing fair </p>
-<p class="line">As now in this foreign land. </p>
-<p class="line">Alas! Alas! </p>
-<p class="line">Freedom that I sang away </p>
-<p class="line">Look at me from o’er the Dnieper, </p>
-<p class="line">Smile at me from there. </p>
-<p class="line">And thou my only love </p>
-<p class="line">Risest o’er the sea so far. </p>
-<p class="line">In the mist thy face appears </p>
-<p class="line">Like the evening star. </p>
-<p class="line">With thee, my only one </p>
-<p class="line">Thou bring’st my youthful years. </p>
-<p class="line">Before me like a sea— </p>
-<p class="line">Hamlets fair in broad array, </p>
-<p class="line">Cherry orchards, joyous crowds. </p>
-<p class="line">This the village, This the people </p>
-<p class="line">Who once as brothers </p>
-<p class="line">Welcomed me. </p>
-<p class="line">Mother! Dear old mother! </p>
-<p class="line">Home of memories fond! </p>
-<p class="line">Happy guests of days gone by! <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4051">[<a href="#xd31e4051">121</a>]</span></p>
-<p class="line">Who gathered there in days gone by </p>
-<p class="line">Simply to dance in the good old way </p>
-<p class="line">From evening light till dawn. </p>
-<p class="line">Do sun-burned youth </p>
-<p class="line">And happy maidenhood </p>
-<p class="line">Still dance in the dear old home? </p>
-<p class="line">And thou, sweetheart of mine, </p>
-<p class="line">Thou heartsease of mine, </p>
-<p class="line">My sacred, dark-eyed one! </p>
-<p class="line">Still amongst them dost thou walk </p>
-<p class="line">Silent and proud? </p>
-<p class="line">And with those blue-black eyes </p>
-<p class="line">Still dost bewitch </p>
-<p class="line in4">the peoples’ souls? </p>
-<p class="line">Still as of old </p>
-<p class="line">Do they admire in vain </p>
-<p class="line">Thy supple form? </p>
-<p class="line">Goddess mine! fate of mine! </p>
-<p class="line">How wee maidens </p>
-<p class="line">Gather round thee, </p>
-<p class="line">Chirping and prattling </p>
-<p class="line">In the good old way. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Perchance, unwittingly, </p>
-<p class="line">The children remember me, </p>
-<p class="line">One makes a little jest of me. </p>
-<p class="line">Smile, my heart! </p>
-<p class="line">Just a little, little smile </p>
-<p class="line">That no one sees. </p>
-<p class="line">That’s all. I, worse luck! </p>
-<p class="line">Must pray to God in jail. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4086">[<a href="#xd31e4086">122</a>]</span></p>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p></p>
-<div class="figure p121width"><img src="images/p121.jpg" alt="A Scene from Siberia. Shevchenko’s painting." width="720" height="383"><p class="figureHead">A Scene from Siberia. Shevchenko’s painting.</p>
-</div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4091">[<a href="#xd31e4091">123</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="memories2" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e296">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">Memories of an Exile</h2>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<p class="line">Memories of mine, </p>
-<p class="line in4">Memories of home, </p>
-<p class="line">Sole wealth of mine, </p>
-<p class="line in4">Where’er I roam. </p>
-<p class="line">When sorrows lower </p>
-<p class="line">In evil hour </p>
-<p class="line">And griefs o’ertake me </p>
-<p class="line">You’ll not forsake me </p>
-<p class="line in4">From the land of my early loves </p>
-<p class="line">You will fly like grey-winged doves </p>
-<p class="line">From broad Dnieper’s shore </p>
-<p class="line">O’er the steppes to soar. </p>
-<p class="line">Here the Kirghiz Tartars </p>
-<p class="line">Dwell naked in poverty. </p>
-<p class="line">They’re wretched as martyrs </p>
-<p class="line">Yet this is their liberty; </p>
-<p class="line">To God they may pray </p>
-<p class="line">And none say them nay. </p>
-<p class="line">Will you but fly to meet me, </p>
-<p class="line">With gentle words </p>
-<p class="line in4">I’ll greet ye. </p>
-<p class="line">Of my heart </p>
-<p class="line in4">ye children dear </p>
-<p class="line">O’er past loves </p>
-<p class="line in4">we’ll shed a tear. </p>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4129">[<a href="#xd31e4129">124</a>]</span></p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="death" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e305">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">Death of the Soul</h2>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">As the nights pass, so pass the days, </p>
-<p class="line">The year itself passes. </p>
-<p class="line">Again I hear the rustling </p>
-<p class="line in4">of autumn leaves. </p>
-<p class="line">The light of the eyes is fading, </p>
-<p class="line">Memory is in the heart asleep. </p>
-<p class="line">Everything sleeps, </p>
-<p class="line in4">and I know not </p>
-<p class="line">If I live or am already dead. </p>
-<p class="line">For so, aimless </p>
-<p class="line in4">I wander in the world </p>
-<p class="line">No longer weep nor laugh. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Fate, where art thou? </p>
-<p class="line in4">Fate, where art thou? </p>
-<p class="line">There’s none of any sort! </p>
-<p class="line">Dost grudge me good fate, </p>
-<p class="line in4">Oh God, </p>
-<p class="line">Then send it bad, as bad. </p>
-<p class="line">Leave me not </p>
-<p class="line in4">to a walking sleep. </p>
-<p class="line">With heart like bears’ </p>
-<p class="line in4">in wintry den, </p>
-<p class="line">Nor yet like rotten log </p>
-<p class="line in4">on earth to lie; </p>
-<p class="line">But give me to live, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4171">[<a href="#xd31e4171">125</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line in4">with the heart to live, </p>
-<p class="line">And love the people. </p>
-<p class="line">If you won’t </p>
-<p class="line in4">Let me curse them </p>
-<p class="line">and burn up the world. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Terrible it is to fall </p>
-<p class="line in4">into dungeons </p>
-<p class="line">Yet much worse—to sleep </p>
-<p class="line">And sleep and sleep </p>
-<p class="line in4">in freedom; </p>
-<p class="line">To slumber for an eternity </p>
-<p class="line">And leave not a footprint behind. </p>
-<p class="line">All alike— </p>
-<p class="line in4">whether one lives or dies. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Fate where art thou? </p>
-<p class="line in4">Fate where art thou? </p>
-<p class="line">There’s none of any sort! </p>
-<p class="line">Dost grudge me good fate, Oh God, </p>
-<p class="line">Then give me bad, as bad. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure p125width"><img src="images/p125.png" alt="Ornament: stylished dove." width="241" height="152"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4204">[<a href="#xd31e4204">126</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="hymn" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e312">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">Hymn of Exile</h2>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<p class="line">The sun goes down beyond the hill, </p>
-<p class="line">The shadows darken, birds are still; </p>
-<p class="line">From fields no more come toiler’s voices </p>
-<p class="line">In blissful rest the world rejoices. </p>
-<p class="line">With lifted heart I, gazing stand, </p>
-<p class="line">Seek shady grove in Ukraine’s land. </p>
-<p class="line">Uplifted thus, ’mid memories fond </p>
-<p class="line">My heart finds rest, o’er the hills beyond. </p>
-<p class="line">On fields and woods the darkness falls </p>
-<p class="line">From heaven blue a bright star calls, </p>
-<p class="line">The tears fall down. Oh, evening star! </p>
-<p class="line">Hast thou appeared in Ukraine far? </p>
-<p class="line">In that fair land do sweet eyes seek thee </p>
-<p class="line">Dear eyes that once were wont to greet me? </p>
-<p class="line">Have eyes forgotten their tryst to keep? </p>
-<p class="line">Oh then, in slumber let them sleep </p>
-<p class="line">No longer o’er my fate to weep. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure p126width"><img src="images/p076.png" alt="Farmer’s house with well." width="295" height="160"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4231">[<a href="#xd31e4231">127</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="returning" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e470">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<div class="figure"><img src="images/o068-1.jpg" alt="Returning Home" width="431" height="121"></div>
-<h2 class="main">Returning Home</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"><i>After a while a new <span class="corr" id="xd31e4239" title="Source: Ceasar">Caesar</span> came to the throne, a man who was thought to have liberal tendencies.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>Shevchenko’s friends at once busied themselves with efforts for his release. Finally
-amnesty was granted. Count Tolstoi, on receiving the news late at night, hastened
-to waken his household and there was a family jubilation.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>But the new autocrat, though somewhat benevolently inclined, was also a little bit
-suspicious. The banished poet was a pretty dangerous character. He had even disturbed
-the conscience of autocracy itself, hence he was only allowed to approach his home
-country by degrees. Finally he was allowed to reside in Petrograd and later even in
-Ukraine, welcomed everywhere by loving and pitying friends.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>His wish for his old age was to inhabit a little cottage on the Dnieper’s banks. For
-this purpose he purchased a piece of land on one of those hills so often referred
-to in his poems.</i>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4252">[<a href="#xd31e4252">128</a>]</span></p>
-<p><i>Death came too soon, however, but the property served as the site of his last resting
-place. He died at Petrograd but in the spring his remains were carried the long distance
-to his old home. A mourning people lined the way.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>Only a couple of days after the poet’s death, appeared the ukase of the czar proclaiming
-the abolition of serfdom. To the common people it seemed that their peasant poet,
-by his songs and his sufferings, had been the prime cause of their new freedom.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>No speeches were allowed at the interment on the hill above the Dnieper but there
-were many people and many wreaths of flowers.</i>
-</p>
-<p><i>One wreath, deposited by a lady, expressed more than anything else the common feeling.
-That wreath was a crown of thorns.</i>
-</p>
-<p></p>
-<div class="figure p127width"><img src="images/p066.png" alt="Person kneeling in near bullock cart." width="324" height="149"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4269">[<a href="#xd31e4269">129</a>]</span>
-</p>
-<p></p>
-<div class="figure p129width"><img src="images/p129.jpg" alt="Taras Shevchenko." width="506" height="720"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4275">[<a href="#xd31e4275">130</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="eleventh" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e323">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">On the Eleventh Psalm</h2>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Merciful God, how few </p>
-<p class="line">Good folk remain on earth. </p>
-<p class="line">Behold, each one in heart </p>
-<p class="line">Is setting snares for another. </p>
-<p class="line">But with fine words, </p>
-<p class="line">And lips honey-sweet </p>
-<p class="line">They kiss—and wait </p>
-<p class="line">To see how soon </p>
-<p class="line">Their brother to his grave </p>
-<p class="line">Will find his way. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">But Thou who art Lord alone </p>
-<p class="line">Shuttest up the evil lips, </p>
-<p class="line">That great-speaking tongue </p>
-<p class="line">That says:— </p>
-<p class="line in4">“No trifling thing are we, </p>
-<p class="line">How glorious shall we show </p>
-<p class="line">In intellect and speech. </p>
-<p class="line">Who is that Lord </p>
-<p class="line in4">that will forbid </p>
-<p class="line">Our thoughts and words?” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Yea, the Lord shall say to Thee </p>
-<p class="line">“I shall arise, this day </p>
-<p class="line">On their behalf— </p>
-<p class="line in4">People of mine in chains, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4310">[<a href="#xd31e4310">131</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">The poor and humble ones </p>
-<p class="line in4">These will I glorify. </p>
-<p class="line">Little, dumb and slaves are they, </p>
-<p class="line">Yet on guard about them </p>
-<p class="line in4">Will I set my Word.” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Like trampled grass </p>
-<p class="line">Shall perish your thoughts </p>
-<p class="line">And words alike. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Like silver, hammered, beaten, </p>
-<p class="line">Seven times melted o’er the fire, </p>
-<p class="line">Are thy words, Oh Lord. </p>
-<p class="line">Scatter these holy words of Thine, </p>
-<p class="line">O’er all the earth, </p>
-<p class="line">That Thy children </p>
-<p class="line in4">little and poor </p>
-<p class="line">May believe in miracles on earth. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure o131width"><img src="images/o131.png" alt="Ornament: dove with laurel." width="93" height="123"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4337">[<a href="#xd31e4337">132</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="prayer1" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e330">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">Prayer I.</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure o132-1width"><img src="images/o081-2.png" alt="Ornament." width="81" height="22"></div><p>
-</p>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">To Tsars and kings </p>
-<p class="line">who tax the world, </p>
-<p class="line">Send dollars and ducats, </p>
-<p class="line">And fetters well-forged. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">To toiling heads and toiling hands, </p>
-<p class="line">Laboring on these stolen lands </p>
-<p class="line">Endurance and strength. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">To me, my God, on this sad earth, </p>
-<p class="line">Give me but love, </p>
-<p class="line in4">the heart’s paradise </p>
-<p class="line">And nothing more. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure o132-2width"><img src="images/o132.png" alt="Ornament." width="63" height="173"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4365">[<a href="#xd31e4365">133</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">Prayer II.</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure o133-1width"><img src="images/o081-2.png" alt="Ornament." width="81" height="22"></div><p>
-</p>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">My prayer for the Tsars, </p>
-<p class="line in4">These <span class="corr" id="xd31e4378" title="Source: traffiickers">traffickers</span> in blood, </p>
-<p class="line">That Thou on them would’st put </p>
-<p class="line in4">Fetters of iron, in dungeons deep. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">My prayer for the peoples </p>
-<p class="line in6">toiling long, </p>
-<p class="line">Do Thou to them </p>
-<p class="line in10">on their ravaged lands, </p>
-<p class="line">Send down Thy strength </p>
-<p class="line in8">most merciful One. </p>
-<p class="line">And for the pure in heart </p>
-<p class="line in4">Grant angel guards beside them, </p>
-<p class="line">To keep them pure. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">And for myself, Oh Lord, </p>
-<p class="line">I ask nought else </p>
-<p class="line">But truth on earth to love, </p>
-<p class="line">And one true friend </p>
-<p class="line in8">to love me. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure o133-2width"><img src="images/o008.png" alt="Ornament." width="54" height="38"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4409">[<a href="#xd31e4409">134</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">Prayer III.</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure o134-1width"><img src="images/o081-2.png" alt="Ornament." width="81" height="22"></div><p>
-</p>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">For those that have done wrong to me, </p>
-<p class="line">No longer do I fetters ask, </p>
-<p class="line">Nor dungeons deep. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">For hands that faithful toil for good </p>
-<p class="line">Send Thy instructions’ gracious aid, </p>
-<p class="line">And Holy strength. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">For tender ones, </p>
-<p class="line in8">the pure in heart </p>
-<p class="line">Do Thou, Oh God, </p>
-<p class="line in8">their virtue save </p>
-<p class="line">With angel’s guard. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">For all Thy children on this earth </p>
-<p class="line">May they Thy wisdom </p>
-<p class="line in6">know alike, </p>
-<p class="line">In brother love. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure o134-2width"><img src="images/o134.png" alt="Ornament." width="62" height="121"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4444">[<a href="#xd31e4444">135</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">Prayer IV.</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure o135-1width"><img src="images/o081-2.png" alt="Ornament." width="81" height="22"></div><p>
-</p>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">To those of the ever-greedy eyes, </p>
-<p class="line">Gods of earth, <span class="corr" id="xd31e4458" title="Source: The">the</span> Tsars, </p>
-<p class="line">Are the ploughs and the ships, </p>
-<p class="line">And all good things of earth </p>
-<p class="line">For these little gods. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">To toiling hands, </p>
-<p class="line">To toiling brains </p>
-<p class="line">Is given to plough the barren field, </p>
-<p class="line">To think, to sow, and take no rest </p>
-<p class="line">And reap the fields anon. </p>
-<p class="line">Such the reward of toiling hands. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">For the true-hearted lowly ones, </p>
-<p class="line">Peace-loving saints, </p>
-<p class="line">Oh, Creator of heaven and earth, </p>
-<p class="line">Give long life on earth, </p>
-<p class="line">And paradise beyond. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">All good things of earth </p>
-<p class="line">Are for these gods, the Tsars, </p>
-<p class="line">Ploughs and ships, </p>
-<p class="line">All wealth of earth </p>
-<p class="line">For us—good <span class="corr" id="xd31e4484" title="Source: lack">luck</span>! </p>
-<p class="line">Is left to love our brothers. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure o135-2width"><img src="images/o135.png" alt="Ornament." width="121" height="43"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4492">[<a href="#xd31e4492">136</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="mighty" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e341">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<div class="figure"><img src="images/o103.png" alt="Mighty Wind" width="615" height="159"></div>
-<h2 class="main">Mighty Wind</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure o136width"><img src="images/o081-2.png" alt="Ornament." width="81" height="22"></div><p>
-</p>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Mighty wind, mighty wind! </p>
-<p class="line in2">With the sea thou speakest; </p>
-<p class="line">Waken it, play with it, </p>
-<p class="line in2">Question the blue sea. </p>
-<p class="line">It knows where my lover is, </p>
-<p class="line in2">Far away it bore him. </p>
-<p class="line">It will tell, the sea will tell, </p>
-<p class="line in2">What it has done with him. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">If it has drowned my darling, </p>
-<p class="line in2">Beat on the blue sea. </p>
-<p class="line">I go to seek my loved one, </p>
-<p class="line in2">And to drown my woe. </p>
-<p class="line">If I find him, I’ll cling to him, </p>
-<p class="line in2">On his heart I’ll faint. </p>
-<p class="line">Then waves bear me with him </p>
-<p class="line in2">Where’er the winds do blow. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">If my lover is beyond the sea, </p>
-<p class="line in2">Mighty wind, thou knowest </p>
-<p class="line">Where he goes, what he does, </p>
-<p class="line in2">With him thou speakest. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4535">[<a href="#xd31e4535">137</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">If he weeps, then I shall weep, </p>
-<p class="line in2">If not, I sing. </p>
-<p class="line">If my dark-haired one has perished, </p>
-<p class="line in2">I shall perish, too. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Then bear my soul away </p>
-<p class="line in2">Where my loved one is, </p>
-<p class="line">Plant me as a red viburnum </p>
-<p class="line in2">On his tomb. </p>
-<p class="line">Better that an orphan lie </p>
-<p class="line in2">In a stranger’s field, </p>
-<p class="line">Over him his sweetheart </p>
-<p class="line in2">Will bud and bloom. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">As a blossom of viburnum </p>
-<p class="line in2">Over him I’ll bloom, </p>
-<p class="line">That foreign sun may burn him not, </p>
-<p class="line in2">Nor strangers trample on his tomb. </p>
-<p class="line">At even I’ll grieve, </p>
-<p class="line in2">In the morning I’ll weep. </p>
-<p class="line">The sun comes up, </p>
-<p class="line in2">My tears I’ll dry, </p>
-<p class="line">And no one sees. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Mighty wind, mighty wind! </p>
-<p class="line in2">With the sea thou speakest. </p>
-<p class="line">Waken it, play on it, </p>
-<p class="line in2">Question the blue sea. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure o137width"><img src="images/o137.png" alt="Ornament." width="103" height="45"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4581">[<a href="#xd31e4581">138</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="fairy" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e348">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">The Water Fairy</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure o138width"><img src="images/o081-2.png" alt="Ornament." width="81" height="22"></div><p>
-</p>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Me my mother bore </p>
-<p class="line in2">’Mid lofty palace walls, </p>
-<p class="line">Me at midnight hour </p>
-<p class="line in2">In Dnieper’s flood she bathed; </p>
-<p class="line">And bathing, she murmured </p>
-<p class="line in2">Over little me: </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line in4">“Swim, swim, little maid, </p>
-<p class="line in4">Adown the Dnieper water, </p>
-<p class="line in4">You’ll swim out a fairy </p>
-<p class="line in4">Next midnight, my daughter. </p>
-<p class="line in4">I go to dance with him, </p>
-<p class="line in4">My faithless lover; </p>
-<p class="line in4">You’ll come and lure him </p>
-<p class="line in4">Into the river. </p>
-<p class="line in4">No more shall he laugh at me, </p>
-<p class="line in4">At my tears out-flowing, </p>
-<p class="line in4">But o’er him the Dnieper </p>
-<p class="line in4"><span class="corr" id="xd31e4625" title="Source: It’s">Its</span> blue water is rolling. </p>
-<p class="line in4">Swim out, my only one, </p>
-<p class="line in4">He will come to dance with thee. </p>
-<p class="line in4">Waves, waves, little waves, </p>
-<p class="line in6">Greet ye the water fairy.” </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Sadly she cried and ran away, </p>
-<p class="line">As I floated down the stream. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4640">[<a href="#xd31e4640">139</a>]</span></p>
-<p class="line">But sister fairies met me, </p>
-<p class="line">I grew as in a dream. </p>
-<p class="line">A week, and I dance at midnight, </p>
-<p class="line">And watch from the water pools. </p>
-<p class="line">What does my sinful mother? </p>
-<p class="line">Lives she still in shameful pleasure, </p>
-<p class="line">With him, the faithless lord? </p>
-<p class="line">Thus the fairy whispered, </p>
-<p class="line">Then like diving bird she dropped </p>
-<p class="line">Back in the stream, </p>
-<p class="line">And the willows bowed above her. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">The mother comes to walk by the river side. </p>
-<p class="line">’Tis weary in the palace, </p>
-<p class="line">And the lord is not at home. </p>
-<p class="line in2">She comes to the bank, thinks of her little one </p>
-<p class="line">Whom she plunged in with muttered charms. </p>
-<p class="line in2">What matters it? She would go back to the palace, </p>
-<p class="line">But no, <span class="corr" id="xd31e4664" title="Source: her’s">hers</span> is another fate. </p>
-<p class="line in2">She noticed not how the river maidens hastened </p>
-<p class="line">Till they caught her, and tickled her ’mid laughter. </p>
-<p class="line in2">Joyfully they caught her, and played and tickled her, </p>
-<p class="line">And put her in a basket net </p>
-<p class="line in2">(Unto her death). </p>
-<p class="line">And then they roared and laughed; </p>
-<p class="line">But one little fairy did not laugh. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4678">[<a href="#xd31e4678">140</a>]</span></p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="nuns" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e359">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">Hymn of the Nuns</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure o140width"><img src="images/o081-2.png" alt="Ornament." width="81" height="22"></div><p>
-</p>
-<p class="small">Shevchenko had heard a story of nuns in a convent conveying <span class="corr" id="xd31e4687" title="Source: messeges">messages</span> to one another interspersed in the words of the religious service. The <span class="corr" id="xd31e4690" title="Source: messeges">messages</span> were to the effect that company was coming that night and there would be music and
-dancing. Hence this sardonically humorous poem.
-</p>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Strike lightning above this house, </p>
-<p class="line">This house of God where we are dying, </p>
-<p class="line">Where we think lightly of Thee, God, </p>
-<p class="line">And, thinking lightly, sing </p>
-<p class="line in8">Hallelujah. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Were it not for Thee, </p>
-<p class="line in8">we had loved men; </p>
-<p class="line">Had courted and married, </p>
-<p class="line">Brought up children, </p>
-<p class="line">Taught them and sung </p>
-<p class="line in8">Hallelujah. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Thou hast cheated us, </p>
-<p class="line in12">poor wretches! </p>
-<p class="line">And we, defrauded and unlucky, </p>
-<p class="line">Ourselves have fooled Thee, </p>
-<p class="line">And howled and sung: Hallelujah. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">With barber’s shears hast put us in this nunnery, </p>
-<p class="line">And we—young women still— </p>
-<p class="line">We dance and sing, </p>
-<p class="line">And singing say: Hallelujah. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4722">[<a href="#xd31e4722">141</a>]</span></p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="goddess" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e366">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">To the Goddess of Fame</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure o141width"><img src="images/o081-2.png" alt="Ornament." width="81" height="22"></div><p>
-</p>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Hail, thou barmaid slovenly, </p>
-<p class="line">Stagg’ring like fish-wife drunkenly; </p>
-<p class="line">Where the dickens dost thou stay, </p>
-<p class="line">With thy stock of haloes, pray? </p>
-<p class="line">Was it on credit thou gavest one </p>
-<p class="line">To the thief of Versailles, that Corsican? </p>
-<p class="line">Perhaps now thou’rt whispering in some fellow’s ear; </p>
-<p class="line">And all because of boredom or beer. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Come then awhile with me to lodge, </p>
-<p class="line">Fondly, together, trouble we’ll dodge. </p>
-<p class="line">With a smack and a kiss </p>
-<p class="line in12">This dreary weather, </p>
-<p class="line">Let’s make a bargain </p>
-<p class="line in12">to live together. </p>
-<p class="line">Thou’rt a painted queen </p>
-<p class="line in12">with manners free, </p>
-<p class="line">Yet in thy company </p>
-<p class="line in12">I’d gladly be. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">What though thou holdest </p>
-<p class="line in12">thy nose in air, </p>
-<p class="line">Dancest in barrooms </p>
-<p class="line in12">with kings at a fair; <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4761">[<a href="#xd31e4761">142</a>]</span> </p>
-<p class="line">And most with that chap </p>
-<p class="line in12">they call the Tsar; </p>
-<p class="line">Still that’s no bother, </p>
-<p class="line in12">thy stock’s still at par. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Come, my dear, make haste to me, </p>
-<p class="line">Let me have a look at thee; </p>
-<p class="line">Bestow on me a little smile, </p>
-<p class="line">’Neath thy bright wings </p>
-<p class="line in12">I’d rest a while. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure o142width"><img src="images/o142.png" alt="Ornament." width="66" height="90"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4780">[<a href="#xd31e4780">143</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="iconoclasm" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e380">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">Iconoclasm</h2>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<p class="line">Bright light, peaceful light, </p>
-<p class="line">Free light, light unbound! </p>
-<p class="line">What is this, brother light? </p>
-<p class="line">In thy warm home thou’rt found </p>
-<p class="line">By censers smoked, </p>
-<p class="line">By priests’ robes choked, </p>
-<p class="line">Fettered and fooled </p>
-<p class="line">And by <span class="corr" id="xd31e4794" title="Source: Ikons">Icons</span> ruled. </p>
-<p class="line">Yield thee not in the fight, </p>
-<p class="line">Waken up, brother light! </p>
-<p class="line">Shed thy pure rays </p>
-<p class="line">On mankind’s ways. </p>
-<p class="line">All priestly robes in rags we’ll tear </p>
-<p class="line">And light our pipes from censers rare, </p>
-<p class="line">With <span class="corr" id="xd31e4806" title="Source: Ikons">Icons</span> now the flames will roar, </p>
-<p class="line">With holy brooms we’ll sweep the floor. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure o143width"><img src="images/o143.png" alt="Ornament." width="115" height="45"></div><p>
-<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4814">[<a href="#xd31e4814">144</a>]</span> </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div id="testament" class="div1 last-child chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e387">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<h2 class="main">My Testament</h2>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure o144width"><img src="images/o007-1.png" alt="Ornament." width="53" height="33"></div><p>
-</p>
-<div class="lgouter">
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">When I die, remember, lay me </p>
-<p class="line in2">Lowly in the silent tomb, </p>
-<p class="line">Where the prairie stretches free, </p>
-<p class="line in2">Sweet Ukraine, my cherished home. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">There, ’mid meadows’ grassy sward, </p>
-<p class="line in2">Dnieper’s waters pouring </p>
-<p class="line">May be seen and may be heard, </p>
-<p class="line in2">Mighty in their roaring. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">When from Ukraine waters bear </p>
-<p class="line in2">Rolling to the sea so far </p>
-<p class="line">Foeman’s blood, no longer there </p>
-<p class="line in2">Stay I where my ashes are. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Grass and hills I’ll leave and fly. </p>
-<p class="line in2">Unto throne of God I’ll go, </p>
-<p class="line">There in heaven to pray on high, </p>
-<p class="line in2">But, till then, no God I know. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Standing then about my grave, </p>
-<p class="line in2">Make ye haste, your fetters tear! </p>
-<p class="line">Sprinkled with the foeman’s blood </p>
-<p class="line in2">Then shall rise your freedom fair. </p>
-</div>
-<div class="lg">
-<p class="line">Then shall spring a kinship great, </p>
-<p class="line in2">This a family new and free. </p>
-<p class="line">Sometimes in your glorious state, </p>
-<p class="line in2">Gently, kindly, speak of me. </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e4865">[<a href="#xd31e4865">145</a>]</span></p>
-<p></p>
-<div class="figure p145width"><img src="images/p145.jpg" alt="First Burial Mound of the Poet." width="720" height="456"><p class="figureHead">First Burial Mound of the Poet.</p>
-</div><p>
-</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="back">
-<div class="div1 advertisement"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
-<div class="lgouter">
-<p class="line">„<span lang="uk" class="cyrl">Мово рідна, слово рідне,</span> </p>
-<p class="line"><span lang="uk" class="cyrl">Хто вас забуває,</span> </p>
-<p class="line"><span lang="uk" class="cyrl">Той у грудях не серденько</span> </p>
-<p class="line"><span lang="uk" class="cyrl">А лиш камінь має …</span>” </p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure harvestwidth"><img src="images/harvest.png" alt="Woman with rake and scythe dancing on field with flowers and grain." width="529" height="720"></div><p>
-</p>
-<p class="center"><span lang="uk" class="cyrl">Пишіть по наш Ілюстрований Катальоґ.</span>
-</p>
-<p class="center xxl">Ukrainska Knyharnia
-</p>
-<p class="center xl">Ukrainian Booksellers &amp; Publishers Ltd.
-</p>
-<p class="center"><span lang="uk" class="cyrl">Найстарша і Найбільше Довірена Українська Книгарня в Канаді.</span>
-</p>
-<p class="center xl">656–660 MAIN STREET<span class="corr" id="xd31e4908" title="Not in source">,</span> WINNIPEG, MAN.
-</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="div1 cover"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divBody">
-<p class="first"></p>
-<div class="figure backwidth"><img src="images/back.jpg" alt="Original Back Cover." width="469" height="720"></div><p>
-</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="transcriberNote">
-<h2 class="main">Colophon</h2>
-<h3 class="main">Availability</h3>
-<p class="first">This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project
-Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at <a class="seclink xd31e45" title="External link" href="https://www.gutenberg.org/">www.gutenberg.org</a>.
-</p>
-<p>This eBook is produced by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at <a class="seclink xd31e45" title="External link" href="https://www.pgdp.net/">www.pgdp.net</a>.
-</p>
-<p>Scans of this book are available from the Internet Archive (copy <a id="xd31e55" href="#xd31e55ext">1</a>, used for the covers and a few illustrations; <a id="xd31e58" href="#xd31e58ext">2</a>, used for the text and most illustrations.)
-</p>
-<h3 class="main">Metadata</h3>
-<table class="colophonMetadata" summary="Metadata">
-<tr>
-<td><b>Title:</b></td>
-<td>The Kobzar of the Ukraine</td>
-<td></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td><b>Author:</b></td>
-<td>Taras Shevchenko (1814–1861)</td>
-<td>Info <span class="externalUrl">https://viaf.org/viaf/71436235/</span></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td><b>Translator:</b></td>
-<td>Alexander Jardine Hunter (1868–1940)</td>
-<td>Info <span class="externalUrl">https://viaf.org/viaf/300238084/</span></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td><b>File generation date:</b></td>
-<td>2022-07-09 12:34:30 UTC</td>
-<td></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td><b>Language:</b></td>
-<td>English</td>
-<td></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td><b>Original publication date:</b></td>
-<td>1922</td>
-<td></td>
-</tr> </table>
-<h3 class="main">Revision History</h3>
-<ul>
-<li>2022-07-02 Started. </li>
-</ul>
-<h3 class="main">External References</h3>
-<p>Project Gutenberg does not use active external links in its ebooks.
-The following URLs are shown purely for information. If so desired, you can copy and
-paste them into the address-bar of your browser.
-</p>
-<table class="externalReferenceTable">
-<tr>
-<th>Page</th>
-<th>URL</th>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td><a class="pageref" id="xd31e55ext" href="#xd31e55">N.A.</a></td>
-<td><span class="externalUrl">https://archive.org/details/kobzarofukraineb00shev</span></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td><a class="pageref" id="xd31e58ext" href="#xd31e58">N.A.</a></td>
-<td><span class="externalUrl">https://archive.org/details/kobzarofukraineb00shev_0</span></td>
-</tr>
-</table>
-<h3 class="main">Corrections</h3>
-<p>The following corrections have been applied to the text:</p>
-<table class="correctionTable" summary="Overview of corrections applied to the text.">
-<tr>
-<th>Page</th>
-<th>Source</th>
-<th>Correction</th>
-<th>Edit distance</th>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e298">5</a></td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">
-[<i>Not in source</i>]
-</td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">an </td>
-<td class="bottom">3</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e694">15</a></td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">We-ve</td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">We’ve</td>
-<td class="bottom">1</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e857">21</a></td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">leader-</td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">leadership</td>
-<td class="bottom">4</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e860">21</a></td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">Bosphorns</td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">Bosphorus</td>
-<td class="bottom">1</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1016">25</a></td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">judgement</td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">judgment</td>
-<td class="bottom">1</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1246">31</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1326">33</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1681">46</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1948">53</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2184">61</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2723">78</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e3216">92</a></td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">
-[<i>Not in source</i>]
-</td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">.</td>
-<td class="bottom">1</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1555">42</a></td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">behives</td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">beehives</td>
-<td class="bottom">1</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1834">50</a></td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">waggons</td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">wagons</td>
-<td class="bottom">1</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2103">58</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e4908">145</a></td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">
-[<i>Not in source</i>]
-</td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">,</td>
-<td class="bottom">1</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2138">59</a></td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">,</td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">.</td>
-<td class="bottom">1</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2215">61</a></td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">Katherina</td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">Katherine</td>
-<td class="bottom">1</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2466">69</a></td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">.</td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">,</td>
-<td class="bottom">1</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e3310">95</a></td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">longuage</td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">language</td>
-<td class="bottom">1</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e3329">96</a></td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">,</td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">
-[<i>Deleted</i>]
-</td>
-<td class="bottom">1</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e3408">98</a></td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">Trektemir</td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">Traktemir</td>
-<td class="bottom">1</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e3703">110</a></td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">neigbors</td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">neighbors</td>
-<td class="bottom">1</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e3776">113</a></td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">Shechenko</td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">Shevchenko</td>
-<td class="bottom">1</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e4239">127</a></td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">Ceasar</td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">Caesar</td>
-<td class="bottom">2</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e4378">133</a></td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">traffiickers</td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">traffickers</td>
-<td class="bottom">1</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e4458">135</a></td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">The</td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">the</td>
-<td class="bottom">1</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e4484">135</a></td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">lack</td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">luck</td>
-<td class="bottom">1</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e4625">138</a></td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">It’s</td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">Its</td>
-<td class="bottom">1</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e4664">139</a></td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">her’s</td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">hers</td>
-<td class="bottom">1</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e4687">140</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e4690">140</a></td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">messeges</td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">messages</td>
-<td class="bottom">1</td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e4794">143</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e4806">143</a></td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">Ikons</td>
-<td class="width40 bottom">Icons</td>
-<td class="bottom">1</td>
-</tr>
-</table>
-</div>
-</div>
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