🚧Our forefathers
Yaudakia LosВедах беларускіх
Translated by
OUR FOREFATHERS
T__o Pyatrus Brouka
My fatherland is ripening ears, And jasmine bloom, and forest shade, It is the singing saw one hears, Deep tracks which heavy wheels have made. Here nightly o’er the forest wall The rising moon shows amber-gold, And brotherly, without a brawl, The Byelorus lived here of old.
He felled the forest, tilled the field, And fished until the darkness came. Where grey mists in the distance melt, He drove his well-built raft amain. The fathers strictly children taught To care for bees, and plough their lands. In prayer one God alone was sought — The eternal toil of calloused hands. It was revealed to grandson’s son That not for ill were they alive, And as for science, they knew but one, One gospel — work and you will thrive. Their skilful hands all things could do, Could hew their boats upon the shore, And stones for white-walled Sofia too, Above the Dvina, swift and pure. My forebears too could tar a boat, Could saw beams straight, and planks could plane, Rejoice in victory with their folk, And help their kin in grief and pain.
yeudakia LOS