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.