Page:Songs of Russia.djvu/34

 Dost thou know, my native country,
 * Any house or corner lone

Where thy Tiller and thy Sower,
 * Russia’s peasant, does not moan?

In the fields, along the highways,
 * In the cells and dungeons black,

In the mines in iron fetters,
 * By the side of barn and stack;

’Neath the carts, his nightly shelter
 * On the steppes so wide and bare,

All the air is filled with groaning
 * Every hour and everywhere.

Groans in huts, in town and village—
 * E’en the sunlight’s self he hates—

Groans before the halls of justice,
 * Buffetings at mansion-gates.

On the Volga, hark, what wailing
 * O’er the mighty river floats?

’Tis a song, they say—the chanting
 * Of the men who haul the boats.