Song [The] XIIIth (Continued) pg. 37

I watched and sorrows danced in my head

A tear inflamed the wine glass

            And a little tear of longing slipped down from [my] eye

            The tear inflamed the wine glass

            So I thought to myself that I would drink to your health

            [And] you maybe at that moment would sigh[1]

                                                                        The End

Song Exile to Siberia[2]

The wind blew sorrowfully through the empty steppe

And drove a snowy drift into the clouds

There a snowy dust cloud tore and shook

Like torrential dust from a hurricane

            Amidst the steppe’s windstorms and billows

            The intricate trail of a black prison-carriage

            And a sorrowful bell sounds in the distance

            Like the last sign of a dead person

In the prison-carriage one can see the figure of a young man

Sorrowful but proud it stood to be seen

On [his] face one could see the trace of ruddiness

But even this would shortly have to perish

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[1] Literally “sighed”

[2] In a different handwriting