Page:The Kobzar of the Ukraine.pdf/71

Rh EYOND the hills are mightier hills, Cloud mountains o'er them rise, Red, red have flowed their streams and rills, They're sown with human woes and sighs.

There long ago in days of old Olympus' Czar, the angry Jove, His wrath did pour on a hero bold, On brave Prometheus, he who strove The fire of heaven to seize for men.

On mountain side, in vulture's den He suffered what no mortal pen May well indite. The savage beak Of his hearts' blood doth daily reek. Yet the torn heart again revives, To triumph o'er its tortures strives.

Our souls yield not to grievous ills, To freedom march our stubborn wills. Though waves of trouble o'er us roll The waves move not the steadfast soul. Our living spirit is not in chains, The word of God in glory reigns.

Tis not for us to challenge Thee, Though life rolls on in toil and tears; Though we Thy purpose cannot see We cling to hope 'mid doubts and fears. Our cause lies sunk in drunken sleep When will it awaken, Lord?