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THE KOBZAR OF THE UKRAINE
137
If he weeps, then I shall weep,
If not, I sing.
If my dark-haired one has perished,
I shall perish, too.
Then bear my soul away
Where my loved one is,
Plant me as a red viburnum
On his tomb.
Better that an orphan lie
In a stranger's field,
Over him his sweetheart
Will bud and bloom.
As a blossom of viburnum
Over him I'll bloom,
That foreign sun may burn him not,
Nor strangers trample on his tomb.
At even I'll grieve,
In the morning I'll weep.
The sun comes up,
My tears I'll dry,
And no one sees.
Mighty wind, mighty wind!
With the sea thou speakest.
Waken it, play on it,
Question the blue sea.
