SONGS OF THE POPPY HARVEST

(From the Opera “Natalka Poltavka,” byIvan Kotlarevsky)

(From the Opera “Natalka Poltavka,” byIvan Kotlarevsky)

(From the Opera “Natalka Poltavka,” byIvan Kotlarevsky)

Petrus I love, I love so well—But I’m afraid, afraid to tell.O the trouble he gives, the little Petrus,Fair-skinned, with black moustache!My mother knows—I wonder how—That I’m in love with Petrus now.O the trouble he gives, etc.My mother beat me, you must know,Because I love my Petrus so.Although, my mother, you strike me,Petrus will soon be mine, you’ll see!If my Petrus is not in sightBefore a wind I bow down quite.But if his eyes in mine should glanceWith arms akimbo watch me dance!How I have cooked! I love to bakeFor dear Petrus delicious cake.... Alas, he comes not.... What a lossWas all my cooking! There acrossThe street comes tiresome Hritz insteadTo eat my lovely cake and bread!O the trouble he gives, the little Petrus,Fair-skinned, with black moustache!

Petrus I love, I love so well—But I’m afraid, afraid to tell.O the trouble he gives, the little Petrus,Fair-skinned, with black moustache!My mother knows—I wonder how—That I’m in love with Petrus now.O the trouble he gives, etc.My mother beat me, you must know,Because I love my Petrus so.Although, my mother, you strike me,Petrus will soon be mine, you’ll see!If my Petrus is not in sightBefore a wind I bow down quite.But if his eyes in mine should glanceWith arms akimbo watch me dance!How I have cooked! I love to bakeFor dear Petrus delicious cake.... Alas, he comes not.... What a lossWas all my cooking! There acrossThe street comes tiresome Hritz insteadTo eat my lovely cake and bread!O the trouble he gives, the little Petrus,Fair-skinned, with black moustache!

Petrus I love, I love so well—But I’m afraid, afraid to tell.O the trouble he gives, the little Petrus,Fair-skinned, with black moustache!

Petrus I love, I love so well—

But I’m afraid, afraid to tell.

O the trouble he gives, the little Petrus,

Fair-skinned, with black moustache!

My mother knows—I wonder how—That I’m in love with Petrus now.O the trouble he gives, etc.

My mother knows—I wonder how—

That I’m in love with Petrus now.

O the trouble he gives, etc.

My mother beat me, you must know,Because I love my Petrus so.Although, my mother, you strike me,Petrus will soon be mine, you’ll see!If my Petrus is not in sightBefore a wind I bow down quite.But if his eyes in mine should glanceWith arms akimbo watch me dance!How I have cooked! I love to bakeFor dear Petrus delicious cake.... Alas, he comes not.... What a lossWas all my cooking! There acrossThe street comes tiresome Hritz insteadTo eat my lovely cake and bread!O the trouble he gives, the little Petrus,Fair-skinned, with black moustache!

My mother beat me, you must know,

Because I love my Petrus so.

Although, my mother, you strike me,

Petrus will soon be mine, you’ll see!

If my Petrus is not in sight

Before a wind I bow down quite.

But if his eyes in mine should glance

With arms akimbo watch me dance!

How I have cooked! I love to bake

For dear Petrus delicious cake.

... Alas, he comes not.... What a loss

Was all my cooking! There across

The street comes tiresome Hritz instead

To eat my lovely cake and bread!

O the trouble he gives, the little Petrus,

Fair-skinned, with black moustache!

IHow like to the poppy seed is this world,It blossoms, it blossoms to-day.To-morrow a stormy tempest blowsAnd the flower has vanished away.O sad for the forests and willow-treesThat hark to the nightingales:O woe for the house of the widow youngWhen the voice of her husband fails!O sad for the forests and willow treesWhen no nightingales awakeThe rest of the little singing birdsAs the rays of the morning break!And sadder still is the quiet houseWhere the lonely widow sleeps:Where the little children none shall rouseSince the grave their father keeps.IIHow sad, O my Mother, how sadTo think of the roses blown by the windAnd the petals all swept away!How sad, O my Mother, how sadFor the war-horse in battle array!But sadder my heart for the soldier youngWho must go for those three long years:Must go at the call of his king!

IHow like to the poppy seed is this world,It blossoms, it blossoms to-day.To-morrow a stormy tempest blowsAnd the flower has vanished away.O sad for the forests and willow-treesThat hark to the nightingales:O woe for the house of the widow youngWhen the voice of her husband fails!O sad for the forests and willow treesWhen no nightingales awakeThe rest of the little singing birdsAs the rays of the morning break!And sadder still is the quiet houseWhere the lonely widow sleeps:Where the little children none shall rouseSince the grave their father keeps.IIHow sad, O my Mother, how sadTo think of the roses blown by the windAnd the petals all swept away!How sad, O my Mother, how sadFor the war-horse in battle array!But sadder my heart for the soldier youngWho must go for those three long years:Must go at the call of his king!

IHow like to the poppy seed is this world,It blossoms, it blossoms to-day.To-morrow a stormy tempest blowsAnd the flower has vanished away.

I

How like to the poppy seed is this world,

It blossoms, it blossoms to-day.

To-morrow a stormy tempest blows

And the flower has vanished away.

O sad for the forests and willow-treesThat hark to the nightingales:O woe for the house of the widow youngWhen the voice of her husband fails!

O sad for the forests and willow-trees

That hark to the nightingales:

O woe for the house of the widow young

When the voice of her husband fails!

O sad for the forests and willow treesWhen no nightingales awakeThe rest of the little singing birdsAs the rays of the morning break!

O sad for the forests and willow trees

When no nightingales awake

The rest of the little singing birds

As the rays of the morning break!

And sadder still is the quiet houseWhere the lonely widow sleeps:Where the little children none shall rouseSince the grave their father keeps.

And sadder still is the quiet house

Where the lonely widow sleeps:

Where the little children none shall rouse

Since the grave their father keeps.

IIHow sad, O my Mother, how sadTo think of the roses blown by the windAnd the petals all swept away!

II

How sad, O my Mother, how sad

To think of the roses blown by the wind

And the petals all swept away!

How sad, O my Mother, how sadFor the war-horse in battle array!

How sad, O my Mother, how sad

For the war-horse in battle array!

But sadder my heart for the soldier youngWho must go for those three long years:Must go at the call of his king!

But sadder my heart for the soldier young

Who must go for those three long years:

Must go at the call of his king!

Here is a hill,And there is a hill.And between them shinesA bright, bright star.What I thought a starMy sweetheart was—She for water wentAnd I followed herAs I would seekA star in the sky.My fine grey horseWith me I took.“My sweetheart dear,Now what woke theeIn the early dawn?”“Nay, no one woke—When I aroseIn the first starlightI bathed my face.With the second starsI went to the well.”“O my dear sweetheart,Wilt water my horse?”“I will not waterThy thirsty horse,Because I fear;For I am not thine.If thine I were,From the bubbling springAnd with new pailsI would quench the thirstOf horses twain.”“O dear my love,Sit now with meOn my fine grey horse!Homeward we’ll go.Four splendid roomsIn my home have I.The fifth one, love,Waits but for thee.It is lighted upFor us two alone.”When they went through the townNone saw them go;When they went on the steppesThe fine grey horseTook bit in mouth,Plunged in the streamAnd its rider slew.“O love of mine,Lean close, lean close!Till he bring you safeTo the farther shore.Look now, I drownWhile yet so young!Good-bye, sweetheart,Good-bye, good-bye!Heed not strange menWho’d speak with thee,For thou art young,Alas, so young!”

Here is a hill,And there is a hill.And between them shinesA bright, bright star.What I thought a starMy sweetheart was—She for water wentAnd I followed herAs I would seekA star in the sky.My fine grey horseWith me I took.“My sweetheart dear,Now what woke theeIn the early dawn?”“Nay, no one woke—When I aroseIn the first starlightI bathed my face.With the second starsI went to the well.”“O my dear sweetheart,Wilt water my horse?”“I will not waterThy thirsty horse,Because I fear;For I am not thine.If thine I were,From the bubbling springAnd with new pailsI would quench the thirstOf horses twain.”“O dear my love,Sit now with meOn my fine grey horse!Homeward we’ll go.Four splendid roomsIn my home have I.The fifth one, love,Waits but for thee.It is lighted upFor us two alone.”When they went through the townNone saw them go;When they went on the steppesThe fine grey horseTook bit in mouth,Plunged in the streamAnd its rider slew.“O love of mine,Lean close, lean close!Till he bring you safeTo the farther shore.Look now, I drownWhile yet so young!Good-bye, sweetheart,Good-bye, good-bye!Heed not strange menWho’d speak with thee,For thou art young,Alas, so young!”

Here is a hill,And there is a hill.And between them shinesA bright, bright star.

Here is a hill,

And there is a hill.

And between them shines

A bright, bright star.

What I thought a starMy sweetheart was—She for water wentAnd I followed herAs I would seekA star in the sky.My fine grey horseWith me I took.

What I thought a star

My sweetheart was—

She for water went

And I followed her

As I would seek

A star in the sky.

My fine grey horse

With me I took.

“My sweetheart dear,Now what woke theeIn the early dawn?”

“My sweetheart dear,

Now what woke thee

In the early dawn?”

“Nay, no one woke—When I aroseIn the first starlightI bathed my face.With the second starsI went to the well.”

“Nay, no one woke—

When I arose

In the first starlight

I bathed my face.

With the second stars

I went to the well.”

“O my dear sweetheart,Wilt water my horse?”

“O my dear sweetheart,

Wilt water my horse?”

“I will not waterThy thirsty horse,Because I fear;For I am not thine.If thine I were,From the bubbling springAnd with new pailsI would quench the thirstOf horses twain.”

“I will not water

Thy thirsty horse,

Because I fear;

For I am not thine.

If thine I were,

From the bubbling spring

And with new pails

I would quench the thirst

Of horses twain.”

“O dear my love,Sit now with meOn my fine grey horse!Homeward we’ll go.Four splendid roomsIn my home have I.The fifth one, love,Waits but for thee.It is lighted upFor us two alone.”

“O dear my love,

Sit now with me

On my fine grey horse!

Homeward we’ll go.

Four splendid rooms

In my home have I.

The fifth one, love,

Waits but for thee.

It is lighted up

For us two alone.”

When they went through the townNone saw them go;When they went on the steppesThe fine grey horseTook bit in mouth,Plunged in the streamAnd its rider slew.

When they went through the town

None saw them go;

When they went on the steppes

The fine grey horse

Took bit in mouth,

Plunged in the stream

And its rider slew.

“O love of mine,Lean close, lean close!Till he bring you safeTo the farther shore.Look now, I drownWhile yet so young!Good-bye, sweetheart,Good-bye, good-bye!Heed not strange menWho’d speak with thee,For thou art young,Alas, so young!”

“O love of mine,

Lean close, lean close!

Till he bring you safe

To the farther shore.

Look now, I drown

While yet so young!

Good-bye, sweetheart,

Good-bye, good-bye!

Heed not strange men

Who’d speak with thee,

For thou art young,

Alas, so young!”

“GIRL O’ MINE”

(Variant)

(Variant)

(Variant)

“Girl o’ mine,Give my horse a drink!”“Not yet am I your wife.Were that my lot in lifeMy widra[61]from the springCold water then would bring.”“Girl o’ mine,Get up behind this horse!Ride we at swiftest gait!Rooms in my house await.The guest-room, O so fine!Shall couch this girl o’ mine.Girl o’ mine,My horse needs better guard!”“Ah, but the road is hard;The dew’s on the grass yet,My bare feet would get wet.”“My coat around your feetShall keep them warm, my sweet.And when God wills, I’ll buyNew shoon to keep them dry.”“Nay, buy no shoes for me—Your own might better be.There’s one likes my feet bare—Now run and catch your mare!”

“Girl o’ mine,Give my horse a drink!”“Not yet am I your wife.Were that my lot in lifeMy widra[61]from the springCold water then would bring.”“Girl o’ mine,Get up behind this horse!Ride we at swiftest gait!Rooms in my house await.The guest-room, O so fine!Shall couch this girl o’ mine.Girl o’ mine,My horse needs better guard!”“Ah, but the road is hard;The dew’s on the grass yet,My bare feet would get wet.”“My coat around your feetShall keep them warm, my sweet.And when God wills, I’ll buyNew shoon to keep them dry.”“Nay, buy no shoes for me—Your own might better be.There’s one likes my feet bare—Now run and catch your mare!”

“Girl o’ mine,Give my horse a drink!”

“Girl o’ mine,

Give my horse a drink!”

“Not yet am I your wife.Were that my lot in lifeMy widra[61]from the springCold water then would bring.”

“Not yet am I your wife.

Were that my lot in life

My widra[61]from the spring

Cold water then would bring.”

“Girl o’ mine,Get up behind this horse!Ride we at swiftest gait!Rooms in my house await.The guest-room, O so fine!Shall couch this girl o’ mine.Girl o’ mine,My horse needs better guard!”

“Girl o’ mine,

Get up behind this horse!

Ride we at swiftest gait!

Rooms in my house await.

The guest-room, O so fine!

Shall couch this girl o’ mine.

Girl o’ mine,

My horse needs better guard!”

“Ah, but the road is hard;The dew’s on the grass yet,My bare feet would get wet.”

“Ah, but the road is hard;

The dew’s on the grass yet,

My bare feet would get wet.”

“My coat around your feetShall keep them warm, my sweet.And when God wills, I’ll buyNew shoon to keep them dry.”

“My coat around your feet

Shall keep them warm, my sweet.

And when God wills, I’ll buy

New shoon to keep them dry.”

“Nay, buy no shoes for me—Your own might better be.There’s one likes my feet bare—Now run and catch your mare!”

“Nay, buy no shoes for me—

Your own might better be.

There’s one likes my feet bare—

Now run and catch your mare!”

Yesterday between the evenAnd the cock-crow went Yakimy,Softly went he to the widow,None was there to see.Welcoming, she held in greetingBoth his hands—“How com’st thou, sweetheart?...It is time, my Heart, my lover—Go now, slay thy wife!”To his wife then crept Yakimy,But he found no heart to strike her—“You were married at the altar,Pretty little bird!”With entreating words she pleaded,Begging him to leave her living....“She was married at the altar,”So the widow heard.“She looked pretty as a swallow,My true wife, my shlubnazhinka,She doth beg so hard for life now,How am I to kill?”“Hearken not to her, Yakimy,Listen not, young Yakimonko,Take a sword and go behind her,And behead her swift.”So he stole behind and slew her.Then he whispered to the widow:“How to slay her you have shown me,But—the deed to hide?”“Make a fire in the oven,Block the flue up very tightly,So the smoke will not ascend there:‘She was crazy,’ say.“Later leave her in the forest,Say that she in foolish dreamingLit a fire to warm herself by,Perished in the flame.”Listening, Yakimy’s neighbourHeard his baby crying, crying:“Where’s your wife, O young Yakimy,That your child cries so?”“She just went now to the forestTo her sister for a visit,She forgot her little baby,She forgot her child!”·       ·       ·       ·       ·Topmost on a forest nut-treeWas the little Cuckoo calling:“They take away the young Yakimy,Fetters on his hands!”At a little inn they rested.Yakim drank to drown his sorrow:“Through the widow, cursèd widow,I have lost my wife!”

Yesterday between the evenAnd the cock-crow went Yakimy,Softly went he to the widow,None was there to see.Welcoming, she held in greetingBoth his hands—“How com’st thou, sweetheart?...It is time, my Heart, my lover—Go now, slay thy wife!”To his wife then crept Yakimy,But he found no heart to strike her—“You were married at the altar,Pretty little bird!”With entreating words she pleaded,Begging him to leave her living....“She was married at the altar,”So the widow heard.“She looked pretty as a swallow,My true wife, my shlubnazhinka,She doth beg so hard for life now,How am I to kill?”“Hearken not to her, Yakimy,Listen not, young Yakimonko,Take a sword and go behind her,And behead her swift.”So he stole behind and slew her.Then he whispered to the widow:“How to slay her you have shown me,But—the deed to hide?”“Make a fire in the oven,Block the flue up very tightly,So the smoke will not ascend there:‘She was crazy,’ say.“Later leave her in the forest,Say that she in foolish dreamingLit a fire to warm herself by,Perished in the flame.”Listening, Yakimy’s neighbourHeard his baby crying, crying:“Where’s your wife, O young Yakimy,That your child cries so?”“She just went now to the forestTo her sister for a visit,She forgot her little baby,She forgot her child!”·       ·       ·       ·       ·Topmost on a forest nut-treeWas the little Cuckoo calling:“They take away the young Yakimy,Fetters on his hands!”At a little inn they rested.Yakim drank to drown his sorrow:“Through the widow, cursèd widow,I have lost my wife!”

Yesterday between the evenAnd the cock-crow went Yakimy,Softly went he to the widow,None was there to see.

Yesterday between the even

And the cock-crow went Yakimy,

Softly went he to the widow,

None was there to see.

Welcoming, she held in greetingBoth his hands—“How com’st thou, sweetheart?...It is time, my Heart, my lover—Go now, slay thy wife!”

Welcoming, she held in greeting

Both his hands—“How com’st thou, sweetheart?...

It is time, my Heart, my lover—

Go now, slay thy wife!”

To his wife then crept Yakimy,But he found no heart to strike her—“You were married at the altar,Pretty little bird!”

To his wife then crept Yakimy,

But he found no heart to strike her—

“You were married at the altar,

Pretty little bird!”

With entreating words she pleaded,Begging him to leave her living....“She was married at the altar,”So the widow heard.

With entreating words she pleaded,

Begging him to leave her living....

“She was married at the altar,”

So the widow heard.

“She looked pretty as a swallow,My true wife, my shlubnazhinka,She doth beg so hard for life now,How am I to kill?”

“She looked pretty as a swallow,

My true wife, my shlubnazhinka,

She doth beg so hard for life now,

How am I to kill?”

“Hearken not to her, Yakimy,Listen not, young Yakimonko,Take a sword and go behind her,And behead her swift.”

“Hearken not to her, Yakimy,

Listen not, young Yakimonko,

Take a sword and go behind her,

And behead her swift.”

So he stole behind and slew her.Then he whispered to the widow:“How to slay her you have shown me,But—the deed to hide?”

So he stole behind and slew her.

Then he whispered to the widow:

“How to slay her you have shown me,

But—the deed to hide?”

“Make a fire in the oven,Block the flue up very tightly,So the smoke will not ascend there:‘She was crazy,’ say.

“Make a fire in the oven,

Block the flue up very tightly,

So the smoke will not ascend there:

‘She was crazy,’ say.

“Later leave her in the forest,Say that she in foolish dreamingLit a fire to warm herself by,Perished in the flame.”

“Later leave her in the forest,

Say that she in foolish dreaming

Lit a fire to warm herself by,

Perished in the flame.”

Listening, Yakimy’s neighbourHeard his baby crying, crying:“Where’s your wife, O young Yakimy,That your child cries so?”

Listening, Yakimy’s neighbour

Heard his baby crying, crying:

“Where’s your wife, O young Yakimy,

That your child cries so?”

“She just went now to the forestTo her sister for a visit,She forgot her little baby,She forgot her child!”

“She just went now to the forest

To her sister for a visit,

She forgot her little baby,

She forgot her child!”

·       ·       ·       ·       ·

·       ·       ·       ·       ·

Topmost on a forest nut-treeWas the little Cuckoo calling:“They take away the young Yakimy,Fetters on his hands!”

Topmost on a forest nut-tree

Was the little Cuckoo calling:

“They take away the young Yakimy,

Fetters on his hands!”

At a little inn they rested.Yakim drank to drown his sorrow:“Through the widow, cursèd widow,I have lost my wife!”

At a little inn they rested.

Yakim drank to drown his sorrow:

“Through the widow, cursèd widow,

I have lost my wife!”

Grass rustling in the breeze,And on the hill a soldier lying.His horse stands by the dying,Earth to its very knees.“Nay, faithful one, stay notTo see if I grow stronger,Tarry thou now no longerBut see thou art not caught.“The steppes wait for thy feet,Then swiftly homeward hie thee;Let them not come anigh thee,Harvesters in the wheat.“Those raking would betray.So, shod with silence going,Thou shalt pass these unknowingUpon thy homeward way.“Haste through the village street.Thou bearest naught of gladness.Like orphan in his sadnessNeigh to the folk who greet.“And at my mother’s gatesThe while bars fall asunder,My mother comes in wonderAnd for thy words she waits.“‘Bay horse, where is my son?By thee lies he then drowned there?Trampled upon the ground there?Bay horse, what hast thou done?’“‘Thy son was ever brave,But cease now from thy weeping,O’er earth and water leapingThy son I tried to save.“‘I would have saved his life....For this, thy son has tarried,A Princess has he married—The green turf ta’en to wife!’”

Grass rustling in the breeze,And on the hill a soldier lying.His horse stands by the dying,Earth to its very knees.“Nay, faithful one, stay notTo see if I grow stronger,Tarry thou now no longerBut see thou art not caught.“The steppes wait for thy feet,Then swiftly homeward hie thee;Let them not come anigh thee,Harvesters in the wheat.“Those raking would betray.So, shod with silence going,Thou shalt pass these unknowingUpon thy homeward way.“Haste through the village street.Thou bearest naught of gladness.Like orphan in his sadnessNeigh to the folk who greet.“And at my mother’s gatesThe while bars fall asunder,My mother comes in wonderAnd for thy words she waits.“‘Bay horse, where is my son?By thee lies he then drowned there?Trampled upon the ground there?Bay horse, what hast thou done?’“‘Thy son was ever brave,But cease now from thy weeping,O’er earth and water leapingThy son I tried to save.“‘I would have saved his life....For this, thy son has tarried,A Princess has he married—The green turf ta’en to wife!’”

Grass rustling in the breeze,And on the hill a soldier lying.His horse stands by the dying,Earth to its very knees.

Grass rustling in the breeze,

And on the hill a soldier lying.

His horse stands by the dying,

Earth to its very knees.

“Nay, faithful one, stay notTo see if I grow stronger,Tarry thou now no longerBut see thou art not caught.

“Nay, faithful one, stay not

To see if I grow stronger,

Tarry thou now no longer

But see thou art not caught.

“The steppes wait for thy feet,Then swiftly homeward hie thee;Let them not come anigh thee,Harvesters in the wheat.

“The steppes wait for thy feet,

Then swiftly homeward hie thee;

Let them not come anigh thee,

Harvesters in the wheat.

“Those raking would betray.So, shod with silence going,Thou shalt pass these unknowingUpon thy homeward way.

“Those raking would betray.

So, shod with silence going,

Thou shalt pass these unknowing

Upon thy homeward way.

“Haste through the village street.Thou bearest naught of gladness.Like orphan in his sadnessNeigh to the folk who greet.

“Haste through the village street.

Thou bearest naught of gladness.

Like orphan in his sadness

Neigh to the folk who greet.

“And at my mother’s gatesThe while bars fall asunder,My mother comes in wonderAnd for thy words she waits.

“And at my mother’s gates

The while bars fall asunder,

My mother comes in wonder

And for thy words she waits.

“‘Bay horse, where is my son?By thee lies he then drowned there?Trampled upon the ground there?Bay horse, what hast thou done?’

“‘Bay horse, where is my son?

By thee lies he then drowned there?

Trampled upon the ground there?

Bay horse, what hast thou done?’

“‘Thy son was ever brave,But cease now from thy weeping,O’er earth and water leapingThy son I tried to save.

“‘Thy son was ever brave,

But cease now from thy weeping,

O’er earth and water leaping

Thy son I tried to save.

“‘I would have saved his life....For this, thy son has tarried,A Princess has he married—The green turf ta’en to wife!’”

“‘I would have saved his life....

For this, thy son has tarried,

A Princess has he married—

The green turf ta’en to wife!’”

Playing on the flute was Ivan,Walking by Dunai.And Palazhka, drawing water,Smiled at him on high.“Ivan, Ivan, my heart’s lover!Come down; drink with me.Cider of the apple sparklingAnd wine I’ll give to thee.”Down came he—she on her thresholdOffered poisoned cake:Jelly of the cranberry,Venom of the snake.Came his mother from her sweepingAs in bed he lay:“Nay, arise now, my son Ivan,Wheat’s to cut to-day.”“Lift my head I cannot, Mother,It is aching so.Pray thee, dear my Mother, wilt thouTo my comrades go?“Tell them swift to come anigh me.Hasten, Mother! Say,‘Come, if ye would see my IvanOn his life’s last day.’”Like fine rain their tears were fallingWhen his fate they knew—“Ivan, did Palazhka slay thee,Ivan, tell us true?”“Mother, Mother, dear my Mother,Haste thee now away.Tell Palazhka—‘Look on IvanOn his life’s last day.’”Then his sweetheart entered softly—Heard Ivan’s demand:“Oh Palazhka, didst thou slay me?Was’t thy mother’s hand?”“Neither I nor yet my motherSlew thee, laid thee low.Why didst thou for draught of waterTo my neighbour go?”

Playing on the flute was Ivan,Walking by Dunai.And Palazhka, drawing water,Smiled at him on high.“Ivan, Ivan, my heart’s lover!Come down; drink with me.Cider of the apple sparklingAnd wine I’ll give to thee.”Down came he—she on her thresholdOffered poisoned cake:Jelly of the cranberry,Venom of the snake.Came his mother from her sweepingAs in bed he lay:“Nay, arise now, my son Ivan,Wheat’s to cut to-day.”“Lift my head I cannot, Mother,It is aching so.Pray thee, dear my Mother, wilt thouTo my comrades go?“Tell them swift to come anigh me.Hasten, Mother! Say,‘Come, if ye would see my IvanOn his life’s last day.’”Like fine rain their tears were fallingWhen his fate they knew—“Ivan, did Palazhka slay thee,Ivan, tell us true?”“Mother, Mother, dear my Mother,Haste thee now away.Tell Palazhka—‘Look on IvanOn his life’s last day.’”Then his sweetheart entered softly—Heard Ivan’s demand:“Oh Palazhka, didst thou slay me?Was’t thy mother’s hand?”“Neither I nor yet my motherSlew thee, laid thee low.Why didst thou for draught of waterTo my neighbour go?”

Playing on the flute was Ivan,Walking by Dunai.And Palazhka, drawing water,Smiled at him on high.

Playing on the flute was Ivan,

Walking by Dunai.

And Palazhka, drawing water,

Smiled at him on high.

“Ivan, Ivan, my heart’s lover!Come down; drink with me.Cider of the apple sparklingAnd wine I’ll give to thee.”

“Ivan, Ivan, my heart’s lover!

Come down; drink with me.

Cider of the apple sparkling

And wine I’ll give to thee.”

Down came he—she on her thresholdOffered poisoned cake:Jelly of the cranberry,Venom of the snake.

Down came he—she on her threshold

Offered poisoned cake:

Jelly of the cranberry,

Venom of the snake.

Came his mother from her sweepingAs in bed he lay:“Nay, arise now, my son Ivan,Wheat’s to cut to-day.”

Came his mother from her sweeping

As in bed he lay:

“Nay, arise now, my son Ivan,

Wheat’s to cut to-day.”

“Lift my head I cannot, Mother,It is aching so.Pray thee, dear my Mother, wilt thouTo my comrades go?

“Lift my head I cannot, Mother,

It is aching so.

Pray thee, dear my Mother, wilt thou

To my comrades go?

“Tell them swift to come anigh me.Hasten, Mother! Say,‘Come, if ye would see my IvanOn his life’s last day.’”

“Tell them swift to come anigh me.

Hasten, Mother! Say,

‘Come, if ye would see my Ivan

On his life’s last day.’”

Like fine rain their tears were fallingWhen his fate they knew—“Ivan, did Palazhka slay thee,Ivan, tell us true?”

Like fine rain their tears were falling

When his fate they knew—

“Ivan, did Palazhka slay thee,

Ivan, tell us true?”

“Mother, Mother, dear my Mother,Haste thee now away.Tell Palazhka—‘Look on IvanOn his life’s last day.’”

“Mother, Mother, dear my Mother,

Haste thee now away.

Tell Palazhka—‘Look on Ivan

On his life’s last day.’”

Then his sweetheart entered softly—Heard Ivan’s demand:“Oh Palazhka, didst thou slay me?Was’t thy mother’s hand?”

Then his sweetheart entered softly—

Heard Ivan’s demand:

“Oh Palazhka, didst thou slay me?

Was’t thy mother’s hand?”

“Neither I nor yet my motherSlew thee, laid thee low.Why didst thou for draught of waterTo my neighbour go?”

“Neither I nor yet my mother

Slew thee, laid thee low.

Why didst thou for draught of water

To my neighbour go?”

THE KALINA—OLD FOLK SONG

Was I not once the red cranberryBy the river flowing?My father’s only child was IIn his house growing.But they plucked the boughs of the kalina,They made great bunches—Such is my fortune—O unhappy fortune!But on a day they married me;As I was biddenI married—and, my blinded eyesForever hidden,The world grew dark upon that morning—Such is my fortune, O unhappy fortune!Is there no river that I may drown in?Was there none otherThan he, the youth to whom they wed me,Father and mother?Rivers a-plenty can be found here—But dry the bed now:And youths, brave, gallant youths, are countless,But they are dead now!

Was I not once the red cranberryBy the river flowing?My father’s only child was IIn his house growing.But they plucked the boughs of the kalina,They made great bunches—Such is my fortune—O unhappy fortune!But on a day they married me;As I was biddenI married—and, my blinded eyesForever hidden,The world grew dark upon that morning—Such is my fortune, O unhappy fortune!Is there no river that I may drown in?Was there none otherThan he, the youth to whom they wed me,Father and mother?Rivers a-plenty can be found here—But dry the bed now:And youths, brave, gallant youths, are countless,But they are dead now!

Was I not once the red cranberryBy the river flowing?My father’s only child was IIn his house growing.

Was I not once the red cranberry

By the river flowing?

My father’s only child was I

In his house growing.

But they plucked the boughs of the kalina,They made great bunches—Such is my fortune—O unhappy fortune!

But they plucked the boughs of the kalina,

They made great bunches—

Such is my fortune—O unhappy fortune!

But on a day they married me;As I was biddenI married—and, my blinded eyesForever hidden,

But on a day they married me;

As I was bidden

I married—and, my blinded eyes

Forever hidden,

The world grew dark upon that morning—Such is my fortune, O unhappy fortune!

The world grew dark upon that morning—

Such is my fortune, O unhappy fortune!

Is there no river that I may drown in?Was there none otherThan he, the youth to whom they wed me,Father and mother?

Is there no river that I may drown in?

Was there none other

Than he, the youth to whom they wed me,

Father and mother?

Rivers a-plenty can be found here—But dry the bed now:And youths, brave, gallant youths, are countless,But they are dead now!

Rivers a-plenty can be found here—

But dry the bed now:

And youths, brave, gallant youths, are countless,

But they are dead now!

AN OLD FOLK SONG

As the cherry glows in the garden,So she, the loved one, grows—So I my love caress.There’s a gossiping tongue in the houses,The women among:“For the dance she will not dress!”O love adored, I must leave theeSafe in the care of the Lord:But a long way I must roam—Expect me, Sweetheart, for a visitWhen grass shall startOn the threshold of thy home.·       ·       ·       ·       ·“Green grass has swayed on my threshold—Silken grass begins to fade.For my love I wait—I wait—A dove calls now in the gardenFrom the withered boughStuck in the ground by the gate.‘Oi-oi-oi-oi!’ she is cooing,‘He comes no more a-wooing.’”

As the cherry glows in the garden,So she, the loved one, grows—So I my love caress.There’s a gossiping tongue in the houses,The women among:“For the dance she will not dress!”O love adored, I must leave theeSafe in the care of the Lord:But a long way I must roam—Expect me, Sweetheart, for a visitWhen grass shall startOn the threshold of thy home.·       ·       ·       ·       ·“Green grass has swayed on my threshold—Silken grass begins to fade.For my love I wait—I wait—A dove calls now in the gardenFrom the withered boughStuck in the ground by the gate.‘Oi-oi-oi-oi!’ she is cooing,‘He comes no more a-wooing.’”

As the cherry glows in the garden,So she, the loved one, grows—So I my love caress.There’s a gossiping tongue in the houses,The women among:“For the dance she will not dress!”

As the cherry glows in the garden,

So she, the loved one, grows—

So I my love caress.

There’s a gossiping tongue in the houses,

The women among:

“For the dance she will not dress!”

O love adored, I must leave theeSafe in the care of the Lord:But a long way I must roam—Expect me, Sweetheart, for a visitWhen grass shall startOn the threshold of thy home.

O love adored, I must leave thee

Safe in the care of the Lord:

But a long way I must roam—

Expect me, Sweetheart, for a visit

When grass shall start

On the threshold of thy home.

·       ·       ·       ·       ·

·       ·       ·       ·       ·

“Green grass has swayed on my threshold—Silken grass begins to fade.For my love I wait—I wait—A dove calls now in the gardenFrom the withered boughStuck in the ground by the gate.‘Oi-oi-oi-oi!’ she is cooing,‘He comes no more a-wooing.’”

“Green grass has swayed on my threshold—

Silken grass begins to fade.

For my love I wait—I wait—

A dove calls now in the garden

From the withered bough

Stuck in the ground by the gate.

‘Oi-oi-oi-oi!’ she is cooing,

‘He comes no more a-wooing.’”

IN THE FIELDS GROWS THE RYE

In the fields grows the rye, rye that is green, is green—“Tell me, my lover, how livest thou, when never my face is seen?”“Out in the fields, down-beaten, rye lies upon its face—So do I live without thee, the good Lord giving His grace.”On the crest of the hill is the rye, cut high on its blooming stem:Down below is a well where the horses drink water drawn for them.“With thy breath the water is blown; pray why dost thou not drink?”“Of what, O young black-browed girl, of what now dost thou think?”“I think and I think all day: I wonder if I shall wed—Nay, surely this may not be!” the black-browed maiden said.“For who would marry me? No oxen nor kine have I,Black brows—blue eyes—such wealth what lover would satisfy?”“Fret not thyself, Sweetheart, some one will come to woo,Caring naught for gold or kine—caring all for eyes of blue!”

In the fields grows the rye, rye that is green, is green—“Tell me, my lover, how livest thou, when never my face is seen?”“Out in the fields, down-beaten, rye lies upon its face—So do I live without thee, the good Lord giving His grace.”On the crest of the hill is the rye, cut high on its blooming stem:Down below is a well where the horses drink water drawn for them.“With thy breath the water is blown; pray why dost thou not drink?”“Of what, O young black-browed girl, of what now dost thou think?”“I think and I think all day: I wonder if I shall wed—Nay, surely this may not be!” the black-browed maiden said.“For who would marry me? No oxen nor kine have I,Black brows—blue eyes—such wealth what lover would satisfy?”“Fret not thyself, Sweetheart, some one will come to woo,Caring naught for gold or kine—caring all for eyes of blue!”

In the fields grows the rye, rye that is green, is green—“Tell me, my lover, how livest thou, when never my face is seen?”

In the fields grows the rye, rye that is green, is green—

“Tell me, my lover, how livest thou, when never my face is seen?”

“Out in the fields, down-beaten, rye lies upon its face—So do I live without thee, the good Lord giving His grace.”

“Out in the fields, down-beaten, rye lies upon its face—

So do I live without thee, the good Lord giving His grace.”

On the crest of the hill is the rye, cut high on its blooming stem:Down below is a well where the horses drink water drawn for them.

On the crest of the hill is the rye, cut high on its blooming stem:

Down below is a well where the horses drink water drawn for them.

“With thy breath the water is blown; pray why dost thou not drink?”“Of what, O young black-browed girl, of what now dost thou think?”

“With thy breath the water is blown; pray why dost thou not drink?”

“Of what, O young black-browed girl, of what now dost thou think?”

“I think and I think all day: I wonder if I shall wed—Nay, surely this may not be!” the black-browed maiden said.

“I think and I think all day: I wonder if I shall wed—

Nay, surely this may not be!” the black-browed maiden said.

“For who would marry me? No oxen nor kine have I,Black brows—blue eyes—such wealth what lover would satisfy?”

“For who would marry me? No oxen nor kine have I,

Black brows—blue eyes—such wealth what lover would satisfy?”

“Fret not thyself, Sweetheart, some one will come to woo,Caring naught for gold or kine—caring all for eyes of blue!”

“Fret not thyself, Sweetheart, some one will come to woo,

Caring naught for gold or kine—caring all for eyes of blue!”

“Mila,[62]farewell,For I must go!How you shall grieveFull well I know.”“My lover, nay,Be sure my heartWill not be sadWhen you depart!“I mount one hill:Another’s setFor you to climb—Thus I forget.”“When behind my loveClosed the new gate,I could not work,Nor sleep, nor wait.“When my soldier passedThe willows thickWith tears my eyesWere blinded quick.”(As he neared the hillShe fainting lay—Cold water lavedHer brow that day.The Iron GateAs he passed byIn a coffin newHis love did lie.)Four steeds a-gallop—“Young soldier, haste!The deathbell tollsFor your love so chaste.”“Nay, let it ring—And bury her deep;For she was not sorry;She would not weep.”The soldier youngHas her threshold gained:Ah, heavy the tearsHis eyes down rained!“O little white feetSo dear to me,How have they bound yeThus straitly!“In UkrainaWhen I went to the war,They walked with meSo very far.“Your dear white handsTight-clasped remain.They rested in mineWhen I marched to Ukraine.“O you dear thin lipsSo closely sealed.How you talked to me,And love revealed.“O my dear red cheeksHow pale they lie.They bloomed like the roseWhen to war went I.“Those dear black eyesThat darkened be,When I went to UkraineHow they looked at me!”

“Mila,[62]farewell,For I must go!How you shall grieveFull well I know.”“My lover, nay,Be sure my heartWill not be sadWhen you depart!“I mount one hill:Another’s setFor you to climb—Thus I forget.”“When behind my loveClosed the new gate,I could not work,Nor sleep, nor wait.“When my soldier passedThe willows thickWith tears my eyesWere blinded quick.”(As he neared the hillShe fainting lay—Cold water lavedHer brow that day.The Iron GateAs he passed byIn a coffin newHis love did lie.)Four steeds a-gallop—“Young soldier, haste!The deathbell tollsFor your love so chaste.”“Nay, let it ring—And bury her deep;For she was not sorry;She would not weep.”The soldier youngHas her threshold gained:Ah, heavy the tearsHis eyes down rained!“O little white feetSo dear to me,How have they bound yeThus straitly!“In UkrainaWhen I went to the war,They walked with meSo very far.“Your dear white handsTight-clasped remain.They rested in mineWhen I marched to Ukraine.“O you dear thin lipsSo closely sealed.How you talked to me,And love revealed.“O my dear red cheeksHow pale they lie.They bloomed like the roseWhen to war went I.“Those dear black eyesThat darkened be,When I went to UkraineHow they looked at me!”

“Mila,[62]farewell,For I must go!How you shall grieveFull well I know.”

“Mila,[62]farewell,

For I must go!

How you shall grieve

Full well I know.”

“My lover, nay,Be sure my heartWill not be sadWhen you depart!

“My lover, nay,

Be sure my heart

Will not be sad

When you depart!

“I mount one hill:Another’s setFor you to climb—Thus I forget.”

“I mount one hill:

Another’s set

For you to climb—

Thus I forget.”

“When behind my loveClosed the new gate,I could not work,Nor sleep, nor wait.

“When behind my love

Closed the new gate,

I could not work,

Nor sleep, nor wait.

“When my soldier passedThe willows thickWith tears my eyesWere blinded quick.”

“When my soldier passed

The willows thick

With tears my eyes

Were blinded quick.”

(As he neared the hillShe fainting lay—Cold water lavedHer brow that day.

(As he neared the hill

She fainting lay—

Cold water laved

Her brow that day.

The Iron GateAs he passed byIn a coffin newHis love did lie.)

The Iron Gate

As he passed by

In a coffin new

His love did lie.)

Four steeds a-gallop—“Young soldier, haste!The deathbell tollsFor your love so chaste.”

Four steeds a-gallop—

“Young soldier, haste!

The deathbell tolls

For your love so chaste.”

“Nay, let it ring—And bury her deep;For she was not sorry;She would not weep.”

“Nay, let it ring—

And bury her deep;

For she was not sorry;

She would not weep.”

The soldier youngHas her threshold gained:Ah, heavy the tearsHis eyes down rained!

The soldier young

Has her threshold gained:

Ah, heavy the tears

His eyes down rained!

“O little white feetSo dear to me,How have they bound yeThus straitly!

“O little white feet

So dear to me,

How have they bound ye

Thus straitly!

“In UkrainaWhen I went to the war,They walked with meSo very far.

“In Ukraina

When I went to the war,

They walked with me

So very far.

“Your dear white handsTight-clasped remain.They rested in mineWhen I marched to Ukraine.

“Your dear white hands

Tight-clasped remain.

They rested in mine

When I marched to Ukraine.

“O you dear thin lipsSo closely sealed.How you talked to me,And love revealed.

“O you dear thin lips

So closely sealed.

How you talked to me,

And love revealed.

“O my dear red cheeksHow pale they lie.They bloomed like the roseWhen to war went I.

“O my dear red cheeks

How pale they lie.

They bloomed like the rose

When to war went I.

“Those dear black eyesThat darkened be,When I went to UkraineHow they looked at me!”

“Those dear black eyes

That darkened be,

When I went to Ukraine

How they looked at me!”

“They may jeer and call me ‘Likho!’[63]I am Vasilyka!In the fields I’ve long been toiling,Rest I now must seek O!In the fields I’ve long been toiling,Rest I now must seek O!”Vasilyka, evil’s coming!Wasyl runs to thwack you!Not a soul is here to rescue,Not a one to back you!Not a one is here to rescue,Not a soul to back you.

“They may jeer and call me ‘Likho!’[63]I am Vasilyka!In the fields I’ve long been toiling,Rest I now must seek O!In the fields I’ve long been toiling,Rest I now must seek O!”Vasilyka, evil’s coming!Wasyl runs to thwack you!Not a soul is here to rescue,Not a one to back you!Not a one is here to rescue,Not a soul to back you.

“They may jeer and call me ‘Likho!’[63]I am Vasilyka!In the fields I’ve long been toiling,Rest I now must seek O!In the fields I’ve long been toiling,Rest I now must seek O!”

“They may jeer and call me ‘Likho!’[63]

I am Vasilyka!

In the fields I’ve long been toiling,

Rest I now must seek O!

In the fields I’ve long been toiling,

Rest I now must seek O!”

Vasilyka, evil’s coming!Wasyl runs to thwack you!Not a soul is here to rescue,Not a one to back you!Not a one is here to rescue,Not a soul to back you.

Vasilyka, evil’s coming!

Wasyl runs to thwack you!

Not a soul is here to rescue,

Not a one to back you!

Not a one is here to rescue,

Not a soul to back you.

BY DUNAI’S[64]WATERS

So quietly, so gently the Dunai’s waters flow.A maiden combs her hair, and sees reflected far belowA wealth of silken tresses the breeze blows to and fro.So quietly, so gently the loose hair drifts adown—“Float there!” she cries, “float onward through vale and busy town,But wait for me a moment, wait, ere I leap to drown!“You know the veiling willow upon the river brim?Wait there—and my sore heart shall come to tell the tale of him—No end there is to Dunai; no eyes for me shall dim.“The widow’s son was handsome, he loved me, as I thought,And look upon the misery his laughing eyes have wrought.Ah, Dunai! did’st thou know it then—know that he loved me not?“O cruel is my lover, Ivan, the widow’s son,He rode away, and whispered, ‘Farewell, my little one—The day was bright and fair, my dear, but now the day is done.“‘Oh, sit beside the river, or watch me from the wall—I’ll wear the wedding flower some day in banquet hall:And you can wear, all sombrely, a thick-enfolding shawl.’”So quietly, so gently the Dunai’s waters flow.

So quietly, so gently the Dunai’s waters flow.A maiden combs her hair, and sees reflected far belowA wealth of silken tresses the breeze blows to and fro.So quietly, so gently the loose hair drifts adown—“Float there!” she cries, “float onward through vale and busy town,But wait for me a moment, wait, ere I leap to drown!“You know the veiling willow upon the river brim?Wait there—and my sore heart shall come to tell the tale of him—No end there is to Dunai; no eyes for me shall dim.“The widow’s son was handsome, he loved me, as I thought,And look upon the misery his laughing eyes have wrought.Ah, Dunai! did’st thou know it then—know that he loved me not?“O cruel is my lover, Ivan, the widow’s son,He rode away, and whispered, ‘Farewell, my little one—The day was bright and fair, my dear, but now the day is done.“‘Oh, sit beside the river, or watch me from the wall—I’ll wear the wedding flower some day in banquet hall:And you can wear, all sombrely, a thick-enfolding shawl.’”So quietly, so gently the Dunai’s waters flow.

So quietly, so gently the Dunai’s waters flow.A maiden combs her hair, and sees reflected far belowA wealth of silken tresses the breeze blows to and fro.

So quietly, so gently the Dunai’s waters flow.

A maiden combs her hair, and sees reflected far below

A wealth of silken tresses the breeze blows to and fro.

So quietly, so gently the loose hair drifts adown—“Float there!” she cries, “float onward through vale and busy town,But wait for me a moment, wait, ere I leap to drown!

So quietly, so gently the loose hair drifts adown—

“Float there!” she cries, “float onward through vale and busy town,

But wait for me a moment, wait, ere I leap to drown!

“You know the veiling willow upon the river brim?Wait there—and my sore heart shall come to tell the tale of him—No end there is to Dunai; no eyes for me shall dim.

“You know the veiling willow upon the river brim?

Wait there—and my sore heart shall come to tell the tale of him—

No end there is to Dunai; no eyes for me shall dim.

“The widow’s son was handsome, he loved me, as I thought,And look upon the misery his laughing eyes have wrought.Ah, Dunai! did’st thou know it then—know that he loved me not?

“The widow’s son was handsome, he loved me, as I thought,

And look upon the misery his laughing eyes have wrought.

Ah, Dunai! did’st thou know it then—know that he loved me not?

“O cruel is my lover, Ivan, the widow’s son,He rode away, and whispered, ‘Farewell, my little one—The day was bright and fair, my dear, but now the day is done.

“O cruel is my lover, Ivan, the widow’s son,

He rode away, and whispered, ‘Farewell, my little one—

The day was bright and fair, my dear, but now the day is done.

“‘Oh, sit beside the river, or watch me from the wall—I’ll wear the wedding flower some day in banquet hall:And you can wear, all sombrely, a thick-enfolding shawl.’”

“‘Oh, sit beside the river, or watch me from the wall—

I’ll wear the wedding flower some day in banquet hall:

And you can wear, all sombrely, a thick-enfolding shawl.’”

So quietly, so gently the Dunai’s waters flow.

So quietly, so gently the Dunai’s waters flow.

They say I am lucky, that cares I’ve none—Yet never was there so unlucky a one.’Twill be always the same, while I draw my breath,From the hour of my birth to the day of my death.O Dame Misfortune, I’m in your power,Because I was born in a fated hour!The spring so pretty, she presents brings,But not for me are her gracious things.My days go on, and my years fly past,And I never was happy, from first to last.O Dame Misfortune, I’m in your power,Because I was born in a fated hour!I do not count my earliest years,Though doubtless they had their fill of tears.O future days! If you wretched be,Come short of the span allotted to me.Mother of mine, when you bathed[65]in flowersYour baby child, of a few short hours,The while the shower of blossoms brokeWhy did not you let the petals choke?Mother of mine, did you kneel and prayIn cloister dim, when a babe I lay,That all misfortune should departFrom the little child held to your heart?“I bore you there, and I knelt and prayed.Alas, that blessing has been stayed!Ill-luck has come, in spite of all—Then take from God what may befall.”

They say I am lucky, that cares I’ve none—Yet never was there so unlucky a one.’Twill be always the same, while I draw my breath,From the hour of my birth to the day of my death.O Dame Misfortune, I’m in your power,Because I was born in a fated hour!The spring so pretty, she presents brings,But not for me are her gracious things.My days go on, and my years fly past,And I never was happy, from first to last.O Dame Misfortune, I’m in your power,Because I was born in a fated hour!I do not count my earliest years,Though doubtless they had their fill of tears.O future days! If you wretched be,Come short of the span allotted to me.Mother of mine, when you bathed[65]in flowersYour baby child, of a few short hours,The while the shower of blossoms brokeWhy did not you let the petals choke?Mother of mine, did you kneel and prayIn cloister dim, when a babe I lay,That all misfortune should departFrom the little child held to your heart?“I bore you there, and I knelt and prayed.Alas, that blessing has been stayed!Ill-luck has come, in spite of all—Then take from God what may befall.”

They say I am lucky, that cares I’ve none—Yet never was there so unlucky a one.’Twill be always the same, while I draw my breath,From the hour of my birth to the day of my death.O Dame Misfortune, I’m in your power,Because I was born in a fated hour!

They say I am lucky, that cares I’ve none—

Yet never was there so unlucky a one.

’Twill be always the same, while I draw my breath,

From the hour of my birth to the day of my death.

O Dame Misfortune, I’m in your power,

Because I was born in a fated hour!

The spring so pretty, she presents brings,But not for me are her gracious things.

The spring so pretty, she presents brings,

But not for me are her gracious things.

My days go on, and my years fly past,And I never was happy, from first to last.O Dame Misfortune, I’m in your power,Because I was born in a fated hour!

My days go on, and my years fly past,

And I never was happy, from first to last.

O Dame Misfortune, I’m in your power,

Because I was born in a fated hour!

I do not count my earliest years,Though doubtless they had their fill of tears.O future days! If you wretched be,Come short of the span allotted to me.

I do not count my earliest years,

Though doubtless they had their fill of tears.

O future days! If you wretched be,

Come short of the span allotted to me.

Mother of mine, when you bathed[65]in flowersYour baby child, of a few short hours,The while the shower of blossoms brokeWhy did not you let the petals choke?

Mother of mine, when you bathed[65]in flowers

Your baby child, of a few short hours,

The while the shower of blossoms broke

Why did not you let the petals choke?

Mother of mine, did you kneel and prayIn cloister dim, when a babe I lay,That all misfortune should departFrom the little child held to your heart?

Mother of mine, did you kneel and pray

In cloister dim, when a babe I lay,

That all misfortune should depart

From the little child held to your heart?

“I bore you there, and I knelt and prayed.Alas, that blessing has been stayed!Ill-luck has come, in spite of all—Then take from God what may befall.”

“I bore you there, and I knelt and prayed.

Alas, that blessing has been stayed!

Ill-luck has come, in spite of all—

Then take from God what may befall.”

THE SONG OF THE VISITS

I liked a girl too much, too much.She asked me to come and see her sometime.So I went to see her upon a Monday—I did not find my girl at home.She was in the garden weeding barwēnok.“Ah ha!” I thought, “she is not at home,My little sweetheart is not at home.”When I went to see her upon the TuesdayI did not find my girl at home.She was clearing the pea-vines in the garden;“Ah ha!” I thought, “she is not at home!Naidorozcha Devchina[66]is not at home.”When I came to see her upon the WednesdayI did not find my girl at home.She was out in the pastures herding cattle.“Ah ha!” I thought, “she is not at home,My sweet little rose is not at home!”When I came to see her upon the ThursdayI did not find my girl at home.So I thought I was lost—I would not get her.When I came to see her upon the FridayShe was weeding still in the garden bed.“Ah ha!” I thought, “she is not at home,My rosy cheeks is not at home.”Saturday came and found me calling.When the door was opened they told me this:“She finishes all her work of cleaning.”And I thought, “May I never see her again!”When I came to see her upon the SundayI got her that time, you may be sure.She was sitting there at the dinner table.I said, “I have you, Naidorozcha Devchina,The first time for you, the last for me!”

I liked a girl too much, too much.She asked me to come and see her sometime.So I went to see her upon a Monday—I did not find my girl at home.She was in the garden weeding barwēnok.“Ah ha!” I thought, “she is not at home,My little sweetheart is not at home.”When I went to see her upon the TuesdayI did not find my girl at home.She was clearing the pea-vines in the garden;“Ah ha!” I thought, “she is not at home!Naidorozcha Devchina[66]is not at home.”When I came to see her upon the WednesdayI did not find my girl at home.She was out in the pastures herding cattle.“Ah ha!” I thought, “she is not at home,My sweet little rose is not at home!”When I came to see her upon the ThursdayI did not find my girl at home.So I thought I was lost—I would not get her.When I came to see her upon the FridayShe was weeding still in the garden bed.“Ah ha!” I thought, “she is not at home,My rosy cheeks is not at home.”Saturday came and found me calling.When the door was opened they told me this:“She finishes all her work of cleaning.”And I thought, “May I never see her again!”When I came to see her upon the SundayI got her that time, you may be sure.She was sitting there at the dinner table.I said, “I have you, Naidorozcha Devchina,The first time for you, the last for me!”

I liked a girl too much, too much.She asked me to come and see her sometime.

I liked a girl too much, too much.

She asked me to come and see her sometime.

So I went to see her upon a Monday—I did not find my girl at home.She was in the garden weeding barwēnok.“Ah ha!” I thought, “she is not at home,My little sweetheart is not at home.”

So I went to see her upon a Monday—

I did not find my girl at home.

She was in the garden weeding barwēnok.

“Ah ha!” I thought, “she is not at home,

My little sweetheart is not at home.”

When I went to see her upon the TuesdayI did not find my girl at home.She was clearing the pea-vines in the garden;“Ah ha!” I thought, “she is not at home!Naidorozcha Devchina[66]is not at home.”

When I went to see her upon the Tuesday

I did not find my girl at home.

She was clearing the pea-vines in the garden;

“Ah ha!” I thought, “she is not at home!

Naidorozcha Devchina[66]is not at home.”

When I came to see her upon the WednesdayI did not find my girl at home.She was out in the pastures herding cattle.“Ah ha!” I thought, “she is not at home,My sweet little rose is not at home!”

When I came to see her upon the Wednesday

I did not find my girl at home.

She was out in the pastures herding cattle.

“Ah ha!” I thought, “she is not at home,

My sweet little rose is not at home!”

When I came to see her upon the ThursdayI did not find my girl at home.So I thought I was lost—I would not get her.

When I came to see her upon the Thursday

I did not find my girl at home.

So I thought I was lost—I would not get her.

When I came to see her upon the FridayShe was weeding still in the garden bed.“Ah ha!” I thought, “she is not at home,My rosy cheeks is not at home.”

When I came to see her upon the Friday

She was weeding still in the garden bed.

“Ah ha!” I thought, “she is not at home,

My rosy cheeks is not at home.”

Saturday came and found me calling.When the door was opened they told me this:“She finishes all her work of cleaning.”And I thought, “May I never see her again!”

Saturday came and found me calling.

When the door was opened they told me this:

“She finishes all her work of cleaning.”

And I thought, “May I never see her again!”

When I came to see her upon the SundayI got her that time, you may be sure.She was sitting there at the dinner table.I said, “I have you, Naidorozcha Devchina,The first time for you, the last for me!”

When I came to see her upon the Sunday

I got her that time, you may be sure.

She was sitting there at the dinner table.

I said, “I have you, Naidorozcha Devchina,

The first time for you, the last for me!”

“WASYLKI”[67]—SONG OF THE DANCE

O they said, the evil talkers,I, a maid, should never wed....I saw Wasyl in the orchard,The green boughs above his head.Refrain.They are mine, the blue wasylki,And Wasyl, he comes closer....The reason why I like him so,The Devil’s Father knows, sir!There’s a dam anear the river—My Wasylko’s gone from sight!I call him, he does not answer—May he spend in health the night.Refrain.Kneading bread and bringing calves home....Where, Wasylko, art thou? Where?...Laughing now above the ovenMy Wasylko’s lying there!Refrain.Sleeveless shirt for my WasylkoI will sew while bread I bake.For my lad, my own Wasylko,See the lovely shirt I make!Refrain.They are mine, the blue wasylki,My Wasyl, he comes closer.The reason why I like him so,The Devil’s Father knows, sir!

O they said, the evil talkers,I, a maid, should never wed....I saw Wasyl in the orchard,The green boughs above his head.Refrain.They are mine, the blue wasylki,And Wasyl, he comes closer....The reason why I like him so,The Devil’s Father knows, sir!There’s a dam anear the river—My Wasylko’s gone from sight!I call him, he does not answer—May he spend in health the night.Refrain.Kneading bread and bringing calves home....Where, Wasylko, art thou? Where?...Laughing now above the ovenMy Wasylko’s lying there!Refrain.Sleeveless shirt for my WasylkoI will sew while bread I bake.For my lad, my own Wasylko,See the lovely shirt I make!Refrain.They are mine, the blue wasylki,My Wasyl, he comes closer.The reason why I like him so,The Devil’s Father knows, sir!

O they said, the evil talkers,I, a maid, should never wed....I saw Wasyl in the orchard,The green boughs above his head.

O they said, the evil talkers,

I, a maid, should never wed....

I saw Wasyl in the orchard,

The green boughs above his head.

Refrain.They are mine, the blue wasylki,And Wasyl, he comes closer....The reason why I like him so,The Devil’s Father knows, sir!

Refrain.They are mine, the blue wasylki,

And Wasyl, he comes closer....

The reason why I like him so,

The Devil’s Father knows, sir!

There’s a dam anear the river—My Wasylko’s gone from sight!I call him, he does not answer—May he spend in health the night.

There’s a dam anear the river—

My Wasylko’s gone from sight!

I call him, he does not answer—

May he spend in health the night.

Refrain.

Refrain.

Kneading bread and bringing calves home....Where, Wasylko, art thou? Where?...Laughing now above the ovenMy Wasylko’s lying there!

Kneading bread and bringing calves home....

Where, Wasylko, art thou? Where?...

Laughing now above the oven

My Wasylko’s lying there!

Refrain.

Refrain.

Sleeveless shirt for my WasylkoI will sew while bread I bake.For my lad, my own Wasylko,See the lovely shirt I make!

Sleeveless shirt for my Wasylko

I will sew while bread I bake.

For my lad, my own Wasylko,

See the lovely shirt I make!

Refrain.They are mine, the blue wasylki,My Wasyl, he comes closer.The reason why I like him so,The Devil’s Father knows, sir!

Refrain.They are mine, the blue wasylki,

My Wasyl, he comes closer.

The reason why I like him so,

The Devil’s Father knows, sir!

Shevchenko

Shevchenko

Shevchenko

“My Daughter!Why dost thou visit the grave-hill?Why weepest thou; where goest thou?Like a grey dove at night thou moanest.”“It is nothing, my Mother, nothing....”And she went to the hill again,While, weeping, the mother waited.That is not Herb-o’-Dreams[68]Blooming at night on the grave;A betrothed maiden Kalina plants,Waters it with her tears,Beseeching Heaven:“O God, send rain at night,Abundant dew,So that KalinaMay bud forth.Perhaps my loverFrom the other worldWill come.Lo, there I’ll make a nestAnd I myselfShall fly to it,And we shall sing togetherOn the bough.Yea, we shall weep and singAnd murmur low—Together we shall in the dawning wingOur flight to other worlds.”And the Kalina grew,Spreading forth branches green....Three years she visited the grave—The fourth year dawned.That is not Herb-o’-DreamsThat blooms at night.It is a weeping girlWho to Kalina speaks:“O my Kalina, broad and tall,Watered before the sunset....—Nay, but broad tear-riversDrenched thy roots.And to these rivers coward-talk,Whisp’ring, would give ill-fame.My girl companions look askance at meAnd they neglect Kalina.Deck now my head,Wash it with dew.Cover me from the sunWith thy broad branchesShielding.Then they will find me, bury me.Mocking at me;And thy broad branchesChildren will tear off.”At sundown in Kalina’s leavesA bird was singing.Under the bush a young girl lies,She sleeps, she sleeps, nor will arise.Tired, the youthful one. She rests for ever.The Sun rose over the hill;Rose the folk joyfullyFrom happy slumbers.But all, all the long night throughA mother slept not.Weeping, she could seeThe vacant place at table,Lone in the dusk,And she wept bitterly.

“My Daughter!Why dost thou visit the grave-hill?Why weepest thou; where goest thou?Like a grey dove at night thou moanest.”“It is nothing, my Mother, nothing....”And she went to the hill again,While, weeping, the mother waited.That is not Herb-o’-Dreams[68]Blooming at night on the grave;A betrothed maiden Kalina plants,Waters it with her tears,Beseeching Heaven:“O God, send rain at night,Abundant dew,So that KalinaMay bud forth.Perhaps my loverFrom the other worldWill come.Lo, there I’ll make a nestAnd I myselfShall fly to it,And we shall sing togetherOn the bough.Yea, we shall weep and singAnd murmur low—Together we shall in the dawning wingOur flight to other worlds.”And the Kalina grew,Spreading forth branches green....Three years she visited the grave—The fourth year dawned.That is not Herb-o’-DreamsThat blooms at night.It is a weeping girlWho to Kalina speaks:“O my Kalina, broad and tall,Watered before the sunset....—Nay, but broad tear-riversDrenched thy roots.And to these rivers coward-talk,Whisp’ring, would give ill-fame.My girl companions look askance at meAnd they neglect Kalina.Deck now my head,Wash it with dew.Cover me from the sunWith thy broad branchesShielding.Then they will find me, bury me.Mocking at me;And thy broad branchesChildren will tear off.”At sundown in Kalina’s leavesA bird was singing.Under the bush a young girl lies,She sleeps, she sleeps, nor will arise.Tired, the youthful one. She rests for ever.The Sun rose over the hill;Rose the folk joyfullyFrom happy slumbers.But all, all the long night throughA mother slept not.Weeping, she could seeThe vacant place at table,Lone in the dusk,And she wept bitterly.

“My Daughter!Why dost thou visit the grave-hill?Why weepest thou; where goest thou?Like a grey dove at night thou moanest.”

“My Daughter!

Why dost thou visit the grave-hill?

Why weepest thou; where goest thou?

Like a grey dove at night thou moanest.”

“It is nothing, my Mother, nothing....”And she went to the hill again,While, weeping, the mother waited.That is not Herb-o’-Dreams[68]Blooming at night on the grave;A betrothed maiden Kalina plants,Waters it with her tears,Beseeching Heaven:

“It is nothing, my Mother, nothing....”

And she went to the hill again,

While, weeping, the mother waited.

That is not Herb-o’-Dreams[68]

Blooming at night on the grave;

A betrothed maiden Kalina plants,

Waters it with her tears,

Beseeching Heaven:

“O God, send rain at night,Abundant dew,So that KalinaMay bud forth.Perhaps my loverFrom the other worldWill come.Lo, there I’ll make a nestAnd I myselfShall fly to it,And we shall sing togetherOn the bough.Yea, we shall weep and singAnd murmur low—Together we shall in the dawning wingOur flight to other worlds.”

“O God, send rain at night,

Abundant dew,

So that Kalina

May bud forth.

Perhaps my lover

From the other world

Will come.

Lo, there I’ll make a nest

And I myself

Shall fly to it,

And we shall sing together

On the bough.

Yea, we shall weep and sing

And murmur low—

Together we shall in the dawning wing

Our flight to other worlds.”

And the Kalina grew,Spreading forth branches green....Three years she visited the grave—The fourth year dawned.

And the Kalina grew,

Spreading forth branches green....

Three years she visited the grave—

The fourth year dawned.

That is not Herb-o’-DreamsThat blooms at night.It is a weeping girlWho to Kalina speaks:

That is not Herb-o’-Dreams

That blooms at night.

It is a weeping girl

Who to Kalina speaks:

“O my Kalina, broad and tall,Watered before the sunset....—Nay, but broad tear-riversDrenched thy roots.And to these rivers coward-talk,Whisp’ring, would give ill-fame.My girl companions look askance at meAnd they neglect Kalina.Deck now my head,Wash it with dew.Cover me from the sunWith thy broad branchesShielding.Then they will find me, bury me.Mocking at me;And thy broad branchesChildren will tear off.”

“O my Kalina, broad and tall,

Watered before the sunset....

—Nay, but broad tear-rivers

Drenched thy roots.

And to these rivers coward-talk,

Whisp’ring, would give ill-fame.

My girl companions look askance at me

And they neglect Kalina.

Deck now my head,

Wash it with dew.

Cover me from the sun

With thy broad branches

Shielding.

Then they will find me, bury me.

Mocking at me;

And thy broad branches

Children will tear off.”

At sundown in Kalina’s leavesA bird was singing.Under the bush a young girl lies,She sleeps, she sleeps, nor will arise.Tired, the youthful one. She rests for ever.

At sundown in Kalina’s leaves

A bird was singing.

Under the bush a young girl lies,

She sleeps, she sleeps, nor will arise.

Tired, the youthful one. She rests for ever.

The Sun rose over the hill;Rose the folk joyfullyFrom happy slumbers.But all, all the long night throughA mother slept not.Weeping, she could seeThe vacant place at table,Lone in the dusk,And she wept bitterly.

The Sun rose over the hill;

Rose the folk joyfully

From happy slumbers.

But all, all the long night through

A mother slept not.

Weeping, she could see

The vacant place at table,

Lone in the dusk,

And she wept bitterly.

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