Classic Poem

On the steppes two fir-trees old,
Their shrunken trunks uphold.

And there stands a third between
Splendid in its towering green.

A young Cossack lies sick on the road,
A young Cossack lies low.

Spent he lies, and he fears that death
Waits beside for his last-drawn breath.

“O my brothers, pray you run
To let my mother know,
To let my mother know!

“Let her come where the frontier lies
To bury the Cossack,
To bury the Cossack.”

(“O son of mine,” she wailing cries,
“Lo, ever thus the sinner dies!

“Thy stubborn heart that would not bend,
Such is thine end, such is thine end!”)

“And my grave, O Mother dear,
With stones thou'lt heap it high,
With stones thou'lt heap it high.

“Plant at my head red cranberries,
Scarlet against the sky,
Scarlet against the sky.

“Upon the branches hang
A bright-red scarf, like flame,
A scarf, like glowing flame.

“To show how Cossacks die:
Ukraine shall know my fame,
Ukraine shall know my fame!”