Longing [Written entirely in Czech] pg. 46

Longing[1]

Oh, how crazy [you are], girlfriend mine

As if wasted[2], that beautiful time

When I was courting you

Oh, how I wish that could be again!

            From the moment[3] I see you once

            My soul gets lost in confusion over you

            You are my paradise, and my heaven

            Oh, how I wish that God would give me you again

An Intrusive Memory[4]

                        -On guard-

Beyond the Blue Mountains in the forest[5], a useless day has already become a lie

You, even in your soul, don’t feel[6] any sorrow- [but] I do, today

Oh, [even] if you knew it still wouldn’t be worth anything

These mountains are far away and you are beyond them

            The End

Albert Smith

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[1] In Czech in a different handwriting

[2] Literally “idle [time]”

[3] Literally “at the time”

[4] In Czech in a different handwriting

[5] Literally “game preserve”

[6] Literally “have”

In the Green May Time (Continued) [Written entirely in Czech] pg. 45

When we had had our pleasure

My beloved began to cry

Forego, my beloved, going home this evening

Wait until it’s near morning

            We walked through the green arbor

            That pale moon no longer sees us

            It said, I don’t know, I don’t see

            That she met with [her] beloved

Memories of Youth[1]

The mountains resounded, the forests roared

Where did you go, my youthful hours?

[Those] hours, my hours, did not enjoy beauty

My youthful years did not enjoy the world

Youth [so] precious, precious, youth

We turned out as if in vain

We turned out to be in vain, things neglected me

Youth, precious youth, where did you get lost?

As if it had thrown that stone into the water

Even if that stone had turned around in the water
My youth will never come back

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[1] In Czech in a different handwriting

"Song" (Continued) [Entirely in Ukrainian] pg. 44

With [our] sweetheart and in the house of our native land

Will the springtime hours never return?

When will they return[1], tell me, tell [me]

Because grieving is neither pleasure nor council

Oh, nights in a foreign country will be more loving[2] again then

When a happier calf goes down to the native land

In The Green May Time[3]

When I went in the evening to my beloved

The moon lit my way, the stars slept

My beloved was not yet sleeping,

Was waiting for me in the green grove

            When we met in the green grove

            We talked of my love [for her]

            The cuckoo called “cuckoo” from the beech

            Called out to [my] angel

            What’s it to you, cuckoo, to cuckoo at us?

            I enjoy my beloved once a week

            And you, by contrast, cuckoo every day

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[1] Literally “How must they”

[2] Or “kinder”

[3] In Czech in a different handwriting

"Song" [Entirely in Ukrainian] (Continued) pg. 43

Oh God, God where[1] is that hillside

Where a darling girl picked flowers

Where she picked them and wove a wreath

And charmed me so much

            We agonized for a year and a half

            Until we didn’t know an enemy near us

            Since we got to know each other, and separated

            Would that we had never had happiness

Song[2]

Stepmother, with you I go through life in vain

I look for family, oh where is it, where?

            Oh my God, kind, faithful to my house

            It seems as if I hear again the sweet sound of native speech

We greet [each other], a lighter wind blows where our native land is

There, anyhow, is dinner, there, it’s a happy paradise

            Those, then, are my thoughts

            Until hearts lie down there, they don’t banish tears

You are my family, [my] cornfields, when we return again to you

We will live together, happy[3]

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[1] In the first line, the word translated as “where” is more Russian than Ukrainian.

[2] This song is in Ukrainian.

[3] Or “fortunate”

"Song" (in Ukrainian with the title in Polish) pg. 42

Song^[1]

I would take up the bandura, tune it and begin to play

So that the voice of this song would be heard in the Heavens

Like fresh water on blossoming flowers

This song would fly into the distant world

[This] song would echo the dreams of my children

Would lead through disillusionment to a life of full measure

Would strengthen for the struggle for good, [for] beauty

For a nation without division, for a^[2] sacred cause

This song would echo a greeting to this world

Sweet like a dream, burning like fire

And wherever its wings didn’t touch compatriots

Then happiness would float into family hearts

Song^[3]

Already the moon has set, a violent wind blows

Towards her, [she] who does not know what happens to a heart

A girl gave a youth attraction

Charmed heart and soul

            This that, Oh God, they say is tormenting oneself

            If she doesn’t decide to marry

And if she decides it’s^[4] not hurting anyone

This that, Oh God, torments two hearts

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[1] At this point the poetry switches to Ukrainian. This poem entitled "Song" is in Ukrainian with the title in Polish

[2] Or “the”

[3] This entire poem and its title is in Ukranian.

[4] Or “she’s”

Song To the Tune of “From the Smoke of the Fire” (Continued) pg. 41

Those terrifying messengers, the crown of endeavor

Have already stolen virtue from many houses

There where pious lineage moaned

The curses of the sins of blasphemy make their nests

Already blasphemous voices, against God and Heaven

[Make] earthly pleasure the only paradise

The devil feeds our people with infernal bread

A cruel fate, Oh Lord, oppresses our country            The End

Expectation

The streamlet^[1] and valley          The torment of my heart

Where my love awaits me            Something can pacify already

The hour gets nearer, nearer         Softly, softly, someone’s coming

At which we meet each day          [My] heart says it’s him

What if he’s not there?                  And he never betrays me

Maybe he’s only hiding                 I hear the song, it’s him there

Well, in vain I cast^[2] my eyes      [My] worries were in vain

He’s not here at all                        Already the hour of happiness^[3] is returning

Maybe he’s changed loyalties       Our hearts are one^[4]

Maybe he doesn’t love me anymore    No one can separate us now 

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[1] Literally “bird stream’

[2] Literally “send”

[3] Or “good fortune”

[4] Literally “mutually inclined”

The Maxims of Zagłoba “Mammon" (Continued) pg. 40

Lack of a penny, that is poison, that is great grief

Without Mammon: Zagłoba mocks the world

                                                The End

Song To the Tune of “From the Smoke of the Fire”^[1]

From the breast of the exhausted^[2], all powerful Lord

To you I raise up a screaming voice of complaint

A terrible adversity are these abysses

Towards which our cruel fate pushes [us]

Human righteousness, our treasure, does not pull [us] out

Through our fathers, something is given us

Our native tongue the foreign [tongue] casts out

It’s cruel, Oh Lord, our Lord is cruel

But that is not the end of our adversity

Which torments us Poles, your people

An excess of sorrow in Polish fields

The filth of disbelief has begun to spread

What delight in darkness and greed

Satan sent to subjugate the world,

To destroy faith, to destroy good-naturedness

Stands now at Polish huts

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[1] In a different handwriting. Presumably an intended reference to the mid-1800s patriotic song “From the Smoke of the Fires.”

[2] This word is plural