Page:The Kobzar of the Ukraine.pdf/112

110 But slavery there,
 * with labor weary,

Nor time for prayer
 * in life so dreary.

My mother good to her early grave Was hurled by sorrows wave on wave.

The father weeping o'er his young,
 * (little and naked were we),

Sank 'neath the weight of fated wrong And died in slavery. The children, we, of home bereft Like little mice 'mong neigbors crept.

Water drawer was I at school, My brothers toiled 'neath landlord's rule.

For my sisters an evil fate must be, Though little doves they seemed to me; Into life as serfs they're born, And die they must in that lot forlorn.

I shudder yet, where'er I roam, When I think of life in that village home.

Evil-doers, Oh God, are we, An earthly heaven we had from Thee, Turned it into hell have we, And a second heaven is now our plea.