MOTHER AND SON
(This song was composed before 1648)
All the oak forest is murmuring, murmuring:
Thick veils of fog o’er the fields and wide meadows cling.
“Go away, my son, from me—
May the raiding Turk take thee!”
“Mother, well the Sultan knows
Thy brave son. (This witness shows.)
“For he pays me from the mine
Tribute—gold and silver fine!”
“Go away, my son, from me—
May Litvà[[25]] soon capture thee!”
“Litvà knows me too—I feed
From her tribute, wine and mead.”
“Go away, my son, from me,
May the Tartars soon take thee!”
“Those wild Hordes take, in much fear,
Other roads when I draw near!”
“Go away, my son, from me—
Moscow! Let the Tzar take thee!”
“But the Tzar likes me so well,
With him I’ve been asked to dwell!”
“Ah, my son, come home instead.
Let me, dear one, wash thy head.”
“Nay, my mother, nay. With rain
Washing it I’ll not complain.
“Winds will dry my dripping hair;
Teren-bush[[26]] will comb it fair.”
All the deebrova[[27]] is murmuring, murmuring—
Leaden clouds over heaven lowering masses fling.
“Farewell!” the sisters cry—for he must go with speed.
She who is eldest born leads out his splendid steed.
And then the second-born armour brings out to him:
Youngest of all entreats—asks with her eyes tear-dim:
“When, O my brother dear, comest thou back to us?”
“Ah, sister! Of the sand take thou a handful thus....
“Sow on a rock. Each dawn water it with thy tears.
That day the sand springs up—thy brother lost appears!”