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To byelorussian partisans

Янка Купала
Янка Купала на
Ведах беларускіх

Translated by Walter May

Partisans, o partisans,
 Sons whom Byelorussia bore!
For the captive, for his chain,
Must the Hitlerites be slain,
 So they never rise once more.

Over graves and burnt-out homes,
 Over blood-stained tracks still fresh,
May the crows call down the crows,
May they count the enemy’s bones,
 Make their funeral feast his flesh.

As for Hitler, vampire-bred,
 May the crows peck out his eyes!
He on human flesh has foil,
He has drunk the blood just let,
 May he die as a wild beast dies!

He has robbed the aged of sight,
 Women, children, babies slain,
Like a savage ghoul, his blight
Turned bright day to darkest night.
 May he die, the evil swine!

Partisans, o partisans,
 Sons whom Byelorussia bore!
For the captive, for his chain,
Must the Hitlerites be slain,
 So they never rise once more.

On to victory I call!
 May your future days be fine!
Cut down these wild cannibals all,
On our country’s sacred soil,
 May they leave no slightest sign!

Ghosts of mothers, children cry,
 And of sires and grandsires slain,
And the bloodsoaked onslaught sly
Calls for bloody vengeance high,
 Such as ages have not seen.

Do not give these serpents power
 Over you their coils to spread.
Dig their graves this very hour,
From the living tear the bowels,
 Blood for blood, and death for death!

Partisans, o partisans,
 Sons whom Byelorussia bore!
For the captive, for his chain,
Must the Hitlerites be slain,
 So they never rise once more.

May your victory come to stay,
 Never leave you, but stand fast.
May alarms not dim your day,
For the partisan’s true way
 Leads to freedom, long to last…

As the world your fight observed
 And as Stalin’s eyes behold,
Fascist breed of dogs destroyed,
Cutthroats’ putrid swarm downbrought
 By your sentinel, wild and bold.

From that scum our soil we’ll purge,
 Woods and water and the sky,
We’ll bring low the fascist scourge,
Soon they’ll bow down to the earth,
 Like our gathered ears of rye.

Partisans, o partisans,
 Sons whom Byelorussia bore!
For the captive, for his chain,
Must the Hitlerites be slain,
 So they never rise once more!

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Collections: Belarusan Lyric poetry