Seize The Land In Triumph

Adam Mickiewicz (1798 – 1856)

Now my soul is incarnate in my country. My body has swallowed her soul, And I and my country are one. My name is million, for I love and suffer for millions.

Adam Mickiewicz 

The Testament

by Taras Shevchenko
Translated by E. L. Voynich, London, 1911

Dig my grave and raise my barrow
By the Dnieper-side
In Ukraina, my own land,
A fair land and wide.
I will lie and watch the cornfields,
Listen through the years
To the river voices roaring,
Roaring in my ears.

When I hear the call
Of the racing flood,
Loud with hated blood,
I will leave them all,
Fields and hills; and force my way
Right up to the Throne
Where God sits alone;
Clasp His feet and pray…
But till that day
What is God to me?

Bury me, be done with me,
Rise and break your chain,
Water your new liberty
With blood for rain.
Then, in the mighty family
Of all men that are free,
May be sometimes, very softly
You will speak of me?


by Adam Mickiewicz 

I like to watch leaning on Ajudah’s face
How foaming billows pressed in black ranks grow
Or at other times like silvery snow
Whirl in millions of rainbows with splendid grace.
They strike against the shoal, break into wave sprays,
Like an army of whales the shore overflow,
Seize the land in triumph, in retreat they go,
Toss shells, pearls, corals behind in their grace.
So it is, o young Poet, in your heart!
Passion often gives threatening storms a start,
But when you raise your lute, it leaves you unscarred,
In the oblivion of deep waters will drown
And the immortal songs will scatter down
From which on your brow ages will weave the crown.



by Adam Mickiewicz 

Lubię poglądać wsparty na Judahu skale,
Jak spienione bałwany to w czarne szeregi
Ścisnąwszy się buchają, to jak srebrne śniegi
W milijonowych tęczach kołują wspaniale.
Trącą się o mieliznę, rozbiją na fale,
Jak wojsko wielorybów zalegając brzegi,
Zdobędą ląd w tryumfie i, na powrót zbiegi,
Miecą za sobą muszle, perły i korale.
Podobnie na twe serce, o poeto młody!
Namiętność często groźne wzburza niepogody;
Lecz gdy podniesiesz bardon, ona bez twej szkody
Ucieka w zapomnienia pogrążyć się toni
I nieśmiertelne pieśni za sobą uroni,
Z których wieki uplotą ozdobę twych skroni

Sown With Seeds Of Freedom

Peace begins with a smile.

Mother Teresa


by W. B. Yeats

Ah, that Time could touch a form
That could show what Homer’s age
Bred to be a hero’s wage.
‘Were not all her life but storm
Would not painters paint a form
Of such noble lines,’ I said,
‘Such a delicate high head,
All that sternness amid charm,
All that sweetness amid strength?’
Ah, but peace that comes at length,
Came when Time had touched her form.

Peace cannot be kept by force, it can only be achieved by understanding.

Albert Einstein

I  Do  Not  Murmur  At  The  Lord
(“Ne narikaiu ya na Boha”)

by Taras Shevchenko

Translated by John Weir

It’s not that I’m of God complaining
Or any other person blaming.
I just deceive myself. I trow.
And even sing the while I plow
My pauper field forlorn and fallow!
I sow the word. Good crops will follow
In days to come. Yet will they? No!
Myself alone, I have the feeling,
And no one else am I deceiving…
Unfold, my field, fold in furrows,
Black earth set for seeding!
Hill and valley plowed in furrows,
Sown with seeds of freedom!
Unfold, my field, cultivated.
Green with verdure covered,
With gold grain inseminated,
With good fortune watered!
So unfold in all directions,
Spread, my fertile meadow,

Seeded not with empty gestures
But with wisdom mellow!
Folks will come the crop to garner….
Oh harvest of plenty!…
So unfold, with green be covered,
My field poor and scanty!!
But am I not myself deceiving
With fancies of my own conceiving?
I am! Because it’s better so,
To strive, though it should be but vainly,
Than make my peace with bitter foes
And idly keep or God complaining!