Classic Poem

“S PREAD wide thy fair branches, and flourish, my Oak,
For to-morrow, to-morrow all will be lost;
To-morrow, to-morrow cometh the frost.

“Make ready, young Cossack, thine arms for the war,
For to-morrow, to-morrow the soldier must go—
To-morrow, to-morrow they march on the foe.”

“Nay, I have no fear of the frost and its might—
To-morrow, to-morrow, I stand in men's sight
As queenly and fair, as green-leaved and bright.”

“I am not afraid of the coming of dawn,
Though to-morrow, to-morrow will see us march on—
To-morrow, to-morrow the Cossack is gone.…”

“Sprinkle the roads that the dust may not fly:
Cheer father and mother, friends, lest they may sigh.”
They have sprinkled the roads, but the dust hangs in clouds,
They comfort the sad, but still Sadness enshrouds.

Before the hromada the Cossack bows low:
“Farewell, friends and foes, and all whom I know.
Farewell! If perchance I have quarrelled with some
(Or if with my friends has a variance come),
I have ended all strife and all quarrelling sore,
Because I return, O hromada, no more!”