"For long I lay ill,
Not a word did I utter, 10
My eyes could not suffer
The old man, Savyéli.
No work did I do,
And my Father-in-law thought
To give me a lesson
And took down the horse-reins;
I bowed to his feet,
And cried—'Kill me! Oh, kill me!
I pray for the end!'
He hung the reins up, then. 20
I lived day and night
On the grave of my Djóma,
I dusted it clean
With a soft little napkin
That grass might grow green,
And I prayed for my lost one.
I yearned for my parents:
'Oh, you have forgotten,
Forgotten your daughter!'
"'We have not forgotten 30
Our poor little daughter,
But is it worth while, say,
To wear the grey horse out
By such a long journey
To learn about your woes,
To tell you of ours?
Since long, little daughter,
Would father and mother
Have journeyed to see you,
But ever the thought rose: 40
She'll weep at our coming,
She'll shriek when we leave!'
"In winter came Philip,
Our sorrow together
We shared, and together
We fought with our grief
In the grandfather's hut."
"The grandfather died, then?"
"Oh, no, in his cottage
For seven whole days 50
He lay still without speaking,
And then he got up
And he went to the forest;
And there old Savyéli
So wept and lamented,
The woods were set throbbing.
In autumn he left us
And went as a pilgrim
On foot to do penance
At some distant convent…. 60
"I went with my husband
To visit my parents,
And then began working
Again. Three years followed,
Each week like the other,
As twin to twin brother,
And each year a child.
There was no time for thinking
And no time for grieving;
Praise God if you have time 70
For getting your work done
And crossing your forehead.
You eat—when there's something
Left over at table,
When elders have eaten,
When children have eaten;
You sleep—when you're ill….
"In the fourth year came sorrow
Again; for when sorrow
Once lightens upon you 80
To death he pursues you;
He circles before you—
A bright shining falcon;
He hovers behind you—
An ugly black raven;
He flies in advance—
But he will not forsake you;
He lingers behind—
But he will not forget….
"I lost my dear parents. 90
The dark nights alone knew
The grief of the orphan;
No need is there, brothers,
To tell you about it.
With tears did I water
The grave of my baby.
From far once I noticed
A wooden cross standing
Erect at its head,
And a little gilt icon; 100
A figure is kneeling
Before it—'Savyéli!
From whence have you come?'
"'I have come from Pesótchna.
I've prayed for the soul
Of our dear little Djóma;
I've prayed for the peasants
Of Russia…. Matróna,
Once more do I pray—
Oh, Matróna … Matróna…. 110
I pray that the heart
Of the mother, at last,
May be softened towards me….
Forgive me, Matróna!'
"'Oh, long, long ago
I forgave you, Savyéli.'