[Contents]CaucasusCaucasusTo 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.”Ornament: decorated egg pointing right.[69]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 oldOlympus’ Czar, the angry Jove,His wrath did pour on a hero bold,On brave Prometheus, he who stroveThe fire of heaven to seize for men.On mountain side, in vulture’s denHe suffered what no mortal penMay well indite. The savage beakOf 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 rollThe 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 seeWe cling to hope ’mid doubts and fears.Our cause lies sunk in drunken sleepWhen will it awaken,Lord?[70]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 riseThough tyrants rage:To Thee alone,All nations bowThrough age on ageAnd yet meantimethe streams do flowAnd ever tinged with bloodthey 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.[71]In faith, there’s widows’ tears, I think,To all the Czars to give to drink.Then there’s tears of many a maidenFalling 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.Woman carrying yoke with two buckets on shoulder.[72]
[Contents]CaucasusCaucasusTo 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.”Ornament: decorated egg pointing right.[69]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 oldOlympus’ Czar, the angry Jove,His wrath did pour on a hero bold,On brave Prometheus, he who stroveThe fire of heaven to seize for men.On mountain side, in vulture’s denHe suffered what no mortal penMay well indite. The savage beakOf 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 rollThe 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 seeWe cling to hope ’mid doubts and fears.Our cause lies sunk in drunken sleepWhen will it awaken,Lord?[70]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 riseThough tyrants rage:To Thee alone,All nations bowThrough age on ageAnd yet meantimethe streams do flowAnd ever tinged with bloodthey 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.[71]In faith, there’s widows’ tears, I think,To all the Czars to give to drink.Then there’s tears of many a maidenFalling 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.Woman carrying yoke with two buckets on shoulder.[72]
CaucasusCaucasus
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.”Ornament: decorated egg pointing right.[69]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 oldOlympus’ Czar, the angry Jove,His wrath did pour on a hero bold,On brave Prometheus, he who stroveThe fire of heaven to seize for men.On mountain side, in vulture’s denHe suffered what no mortal penMay well indite. The savage beakOf 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 rollThe 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 seeWe cling to hope ’mid doubts and fears.Our cause lies sunk in drunken sleepWhen will it awaken,Lord?[70]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 riseThough tyrants rage:To Thee alone,All nations bowThrough age on ageAnd yet meantimethe streams do flowAnd ever tinged with bloodthey 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.[71]In faith, there’s widows’ tears, I think,To all the Czars to give to drink.Then there’s tears of many a maidenFalling 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.Woman carrying yoke with two buckets on shoulder.[72]
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.”
Ornament: decorated egg pointing right.
[69]
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 oldOlympus’ Czar, the angry Jove,His wrath did pour on a hero bold,On brave Prometheus, he who stroveThe fire of heaven to seize for men.On mountain side, in vulture’s denHe suffered what no mortal penMay well indite. The savage beakOf 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 rollThe 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 seeWe cling to hope ’mid doubts and fears.Our cause lies sunk in drunken sleepWhen will it awaken,Lord?[70]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 riseThough tyrants rage:To Thee alone,All nations bowThrough age on ageAnd yet meantimethe streams do flowAnd ever tinged with bloodthey 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.[71]In faith, there’s widows’ tears, I think,To all the Czars to give to drink.Then there’s tears of many a maidenFalling 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.
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.
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 oldOlympus’ Czar, the angry Jove,His wrath did pour on a hero bold,On brave Prometheus, he who stroveThe fire of heaven to seize for men.
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 denHe suffered what no mortal penMay well indite. The savage beakOf his hearts’ blood doth daily reek.Yet the torn heart again revives,To triumph o’er its tortures strives.
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 rollThe waves move not the steadfast soul.Our living spirit is not in chains,The word of God in glory reigns.
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 seeWe cling to hope ’mid doubts and fears.Our cause lies sunk in drunken sleepWhen will it awaken,Lord?[70]Oppressors gloat and patriots weep,When wilt strength to us afford?
’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?[70]
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 riseThough tyrants rage:To Thee alone,All nations bowThrough age on ageAnd yet meantimethe streams do flowAnd ever tinged with bloodthey go.
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.
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.
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.
The bones of soldiers bleaching lie,
In blood and tears must many die.
[71]
In faith, there’s widows’ tears, I think,To all the Czars to give to drink.Then there’s tears of many a maidenFalling 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!
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 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.
Woman carrying yoke with two buckets on shoulder.
[72]