Kobzar

At Kiev, in the low countrie, Things happened once that you’ll never see. For evermore, ’twas done; Nevermore, ’twill come. Yet I, my brother, Will with hope foregather, That this again I’ll see, Though grief it brings to me.

To Kiev in the low countrie Came our brotherhood so free. Nor slave nor lord have they, But all in noble garb so gay Came splashing forth in mood full glad With velvet coats the streets are clad. They swagger in silken garments pride And they for no one turn aside.

In Kiev, in the low countrie, All the cossacks dance in glee, Just like water in pails and tubs Wine pours out ’mid great hubbubs. Wine cellars and bars with all the barmaids The cossacks have bought with their wines and meads. With their heels they stamp And dancing tramp, While the music roars And joyously soars.

The people gaze with gladsome eyes, While scholars of the cloister schools All in silence bred by rules, Look on with wondering surprise. Unhappy scholars! Were they free, They would cossacks dancing be. Who is this by musicians surrounded To whom the people give fame unbounded? In trousers of velvet red, With a coat that sweeps the road A cossack comes. Let’s weep o’er his years For what they’ve done is cause for tears. But there’s life in the old man yet I trust, For with dancing kicks he spurns the dust. In his short time left with men to mingle The cossack sings, this tipsy jingle.