THOUGHTS FROM A PRISON
Taras Shevchenko
The sun sets; mountains fade
Into the darkness; the bird’s note is stilled.
The fields grow silent, for the peasant now
Rejoicing, dreams of rest.
And I look with desire,
Longing desire—to an orchard dark,
The Orchard of Ukraine.
And I pour forth my thoughts
As though my heart were resting.
Fields, forest, mountains, darkening still—
And in the shadowy blue appears a star ...
O Star! My Star!... And the tears fall ...
Hast thou then also risen in Ukraine?
Not for the people and not for the praise
These verses now are written. Nay, I write
But for myself, my brothers, for heart’s ease.
Lo, from beyond the Dnieper, as from far away
The words flow in and spread the paper o’er;
Laughing and crying as the children do
They gladden my poor soul, uncomforted,
Raw, inconsolable—I joy in them,
With them would always stay. They are my own.
As a rich father loves his little ones,
So am I glad and merry with my own.
Yea, I rejoice; and the good God I praise,
That He lets not my children fall asleep
In this so far-off land, but says, “Run home,
And tell the others in the dear Ukraine
How bitter ’twas to live in such a world!”