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Translated by A. Baskerville
THE CHILLY breezes blow, | |
| In sadness do we go, | |
| Led on by Destiny. | |
| O’ershadowed is each star, | |
| While Europe, from afar, | 5 |
| Looks on the tragedy. | |
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| Oft turning back our head, | |
| Upon the bridge we tread | |
| That quits our native land. | |
| By torchlight’s sombre glow, | 10 |
| They who our sorrows know | |
| Salute us on the strand. | |
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| Sold, vanquished, and betrayed, | |
| Our noblest actions fade | |
| Like vain and empty dreams, | 15 |
| No trace behind remains. | |
| Farewell, beloved plains, | |
| Ye valleys, hills, and streams! | |
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| Farewell! in every land | |
| Will a life-wearied band | 20 |
| Find in the grave a home. | |
| It is not death we flee, | |
| No, ’t is but to be free, | |
| We take our staff and roam. | |
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| From wife and child, from all | 25 |
| We part, our country’s fall | |
| We may not hinder more, | |
| For, lo! the knout of Russia | |
| And scourging steel of Prussia | |
| Are thirsting for our gore. | 30 |
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| A tearless soul abhorred | |
| Was given us as lord, | |
| A stony heart unbent; | |
| Born of a murderous race, | |
| His forehead bears the trace | 35 |
| That brandeth his descent. | |
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| Let glory’s crown, O fame, | |
| Illume our humble name! | |
| Pour balm on every scar! | |
| Then smart the wounds of none, | 40 |
| For Poland’s humblest son | |
| Is greater than the Czar. | |
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| Alone inherit we | |
| Our struggle’s memory | |
| That leagued each Polish band, | 45 |
| Of war the pain and toil, | |
| A handful of the soil | |
| Snatched from our Fatherland. | |
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| O, happy they who drained | |
| The cup of death, and gained | 50 |
| The laurels of the brave! | |
| And ye, Volhynia’s sons, | |
| From agony’s death-groans | |
| Freed by the cold damp grave! | |
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| They urge the reeking steed, | 55 |
| Enclosed by foes, and speed | |
| The Vistula to gain, | |
| The stranger’s shore their goal; | |
| Then swelled their noble soul, | |
| Oppressed by woe and pain. | 60 |
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| It wrung their hearts to roam, | |
| Ne’er more to see that home | |
| Of every wish the meed; | |
| Then rushed the good and brave | |
| Headlong into the wave | 65 |
| With weapon and with steed. | |
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| O thou, their country’s flood, | |
| Who long hast swelled with blood, | |
| Receive the valiant dead! | |
| Soon wilt thou reach the sea, | 70 |
| O, bear the corpses free | |
| On to free Ocean’s bed. | |
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