Poetry

The Night of Taras

By the road the Kobzar sat
And on his kobza played.
Around him youths and maidens
Like poppy flowers arrayed.

So the Kobzar played and sang
Of many an old old story;
Of wars with Russian, Pole and Tartar
And the ancient Cossack glory.

He sang of the wars of Taras brave,
Of battle fought in the morning early,
Of the fallen Cossack’s grass-grown grave
Till smiles and tears did mingle fairly.

“Once on a time the Hetmans ruled,
It comes not back again;
In olden days we masters were
This never comes again.
These glories of old Cossack lore
Shall be forgotten nevermore.

Ukraine, Ukraine!
Mother mine. Mother mine!
When I remember thee
How mournful should I be.