I’m not for you
Янка КупалаВедах беларускіх
Translated by Walter May
I’m not for you, my lords, oh no!
In leisure hour my song I write,
Which in my heart lies slumbering low —
I rouse it up, bring forth to light.
I’m not for you, my lords, oh no!
I’m not for you, my lords, oh no!
I’m often of all peace bereft,
When in my eyes bright teardrops grow,
With sorrow which my soul has swept —
I’m not for you, my lords, oh no!
I’m not for you, my lords, oh no!
My youth’s best days I squander so,
In one eternal war with woe,
Life’s happiness I do not know —
I’m not for you, my lords, oh no!
I’m not for you, my lords, oh no!
To raise a crop of words I haste,
Upon my empty land I go,
On Byelorussian grasslands vast.
I’m not for you, my lords, oh no!
I’m not for you, my lords, oh no!
I grieve about my people’s fate;
You’d tread me in the mire below,
You worthless breed, corrupt and base.
I’m not for you, my lords, oh no!
I’m not for you, my lords, oh no!
I sing: but you don’t feel my pain.
Your heart’s not touched by pity, though.
A brother’s torment calls in vain.
You can’t be touched by that, oh no!
I’m not for you, my lords, oh no!
You live so fine, you swill the wine,
You’re dulled by gluttony, and so
You can’t be moved by truths of mine.
You can’t be roused, my lords, oh no!
I’m not for you, my lords, oh no!
I’m for the poor, in stress and strain,
I’m one with them in equal woe,
And fettered by the self-same chain.
I’m not for you, my lords, oh no!
I’m not for you, my lords, oh no!
I’m for the ignorant and the sad.
From them to me responses flow,
I hear them in the field and glade,
But not from you, my lords, oh no!