The Mines


 * And remember my fetters!
 * St. Paul.
 * Galilee vicisti! . ..

Fires burn among the mines As in the abyss of hell, Naked men with chains They hit in rocks with willing palm Cyclop’s hammers! . . . And their hearts is heavier as these clods of rocks – Before their white souls from tame bodies will blow away, Then they whisper to you, that there is God in heaven, But on earth the Tzar, Lord of life and punishments! . . . And mines burst out laughing, rang the Echo of hammers, That not so infernal immortal Hell! . . .      It rumbles wildly, thunders, gets lost Woe! woe! woe! woe! . . .                  Hammer will shoot! Sometimes whistles the knout! Someone died! . . .      Forward! Ask the Tzar! In chorus knout! Death for you! Son of a bitch! And crop for me! And act for me! Tzar will give! . . . Fetters sound, victims groan Burst out laughing around And calls for revenge! . . . They beats, strikes with willing palm To the rhythm of hell the hammer Falls! in the distance fires burn, Sweat in stream flows! Clods rumble, thunder, fall, Tresses of sparks fly, And undergrounds plays the sound Of hammers, groans, glitters choir, That hell itself seems to fear, Though they abuse them savagely With Moscow’s gadflies chorus! They beats! strikes! with thousands hands Simultaneous lifting, That vaults tremble. And with hot sweat Cold tear of stone Gets lost – and perishes – And wild sound flows In precipices of eclipse! And the chorus of prisoners among tortures By long night drowns the pains And with hammers loud sounds Hugs in the quiet voice of song It flowed. . . it flowed. . . „Poland is not yet lost! . . .” But so pale and fainting As under the cross Mary, That whole Calvary Near it seemed laughing! . . . Chorus hums, and heart hurts Resurrected among captivity! . . .      Worse hammers in the hearts of Poland Beats, routs, this puts to death! There – women like a cattle rush Fettered in chains. Near fire they fall harassed! . . . Wolf's eye in shadow shines! . . . In Enlightenment days of Ages. . . !

There in deep – great – shadow, Mother lies trembling, pale, Hammers rumble: woe! woe! She looks at the vault, Because she gave birth to a child today, And she trembles because him in bestiality Schism did not baptize with tar ! . . . But near steep rock, There! springlet arose, When in men sense got lost – Spring sobs the black rock, Near silent prisoner with beard Forges with hammer – and he said: in body For ever word – has itself happen! . . . I’m a priest poor mother! And he baptized the child with water – Again more one soul – And so stealthily he baptized child, As if he was plotting a crime treacherous, Unhappy mother whispers, Let him be called Bolesław! . . . And let over rays of the sun He loves Poland until – to – the end! . . . And she died – and from chains The soul went with chorus of spirits, With sound of hammers she flew away As from a lily, from a body form, And baby stayed, Over him only the God! Which over threshold of despairs He raises souls – piles up the [dead] bodies Among the thugs a small child Mayby you will grow up the savior of the country! – Maybe you „according to custom” Tzar will nursed so well And will drill so bravely, That Różycki from you will be, When the country will call, Thousandfold always, everywhere! . . . The spirit of martyrdoms, bloody May! . ..

They beats! hits! thunder with hammers, Echo dies in precipices, And over choir in fetters, Tormented in terrible sweat Gigantic shadow, Christ's Snow-white! gets up! and his head Thorns carries over vault With „second” cross suffering! . . . Great! over the summit of Himalayas Purplish red in the blues of auroras ! . . . On the tops of our pains It flows! from over infernal gang! . . . Upwards hearts! in the precipice forehead! . . . Let no one cry for vengeance! . . . He glides divine! gleaming! . . . Like a again by bloody work He cried out from the cross, dying: For what did you leave me, for what! Father! I'm loving son! . . . For him his Holy Mother. Then Polish patrons, Bishops, hetmans, Sobiekis and Kościuszkos, From Bar – and apostles! . . . They move crying, They testify – appear before the court! . . . And for them Poland’s bells Voices happens, to their thrones, So as play among oak wood From Wawel! Częstochowa! . . . So as they blow from over wave of cereals! . . . Oh! there in the distance! . . . in dear distance! . . .             In holy distance! . . . And this dew on the ears of the fields In my eyes I feel tearful! . . . And their voice in my harp’s voices In the depths of the chest – I feel bloodily! . . . Shadows flow! over spaces! . . . Over the smoke, hammers, crimes, virginity! . . . And voice blew in world of shadows As Word-flesh! You will resurrect! As I resurrected! . . . And Shadow after shadow blows, Because here the day of Easter! . . . They get up – flow, flow, perish! . . . And Alleluia! chorus sings. . . Among the heaven’s night of the spirit! . . . And chorus in below thunders the hammers, Alleluia! of pains! . . . They beats! rumble! fires burn! Thousand hands in lively work, The terrible pallor coated the faces! . . . They pray already desperate, Give us to dig – to hell! Because not so bad among the flames! . . . Suddenly, chorus rustled from above! . . . Prisoners fell on knee! . . . The earth choruses, heavens choruses Alleluia! . . . o hosanna! . . . As harp of seas overflowing They sing history second rhapsody! . ..

With bright sparks tresses Night gets lost in vaults, Song resounding in the chasms The song – that grain of Resurrection! Vipers are already eating Murawiew And song and under the ground sings – Every hammer their work of torture, It rings: „She is not yet lost! . . .” And the mine’s bowels Shakes, roars with thunders Like a chest of hell would roar: „Poland is not yet lost! . . .” Lwigród, 1867.