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🚧My country

Пімен Панчанка
Пімен Панчанка на
Ведах беларускіх

Translated by


0 thou my joy, my country beloved, Othou my song of youth’s dawning, Over thy ploughlands, over thy groves, The heart of a son lingers mourning.

Often as a dream thou dost come to me, now,

Thou dost flow like a wave, forth upon me,

Thou dost perch like a bird on the quiet maple bough, In the chime of the rain fallest on me.

To the last detail my memory plays,

Over all things bound up in my country,

How the rye rustles, how the dawn’s blaze, Smoulders out on the lake bed, far under.

H°w in blazing summer, day after day, We wandered across fields of stubble, e wounded our feet on the stones of the way, et never by pain were we troubled.


Translated by Vera Rich.

And there was nothing shimmered more bright Than the sun in our own heavens, And there was nothing more tasty and light Than bread by a mother given.

I long for no glory nor treasures; and sweet It would be, though I passed life obscurely, To feel my own land once more under my feet, To breathe my own air, blowing purely.

The waters than in a roadside brook splash, For us past all honey were sweeter, Othou my country, my mother alas, Thy time is heavy and bitter!

They have trampled upon, they have tortured thy land, Monsters in rabid-mad seizure,

My blood to the uttermost drop I would spend, If only thus I could ease thee.


No need to recall drievous trouble and mischief.

May radiant peace of the golden-haired wheatsheaf Illumine the future.

By the brightness of happiness may we see better May this flame, like a flag, on the square ever flutter Its sparks star the heavens. ‘

Thet heart upon which such a spark once should settle

Will burn like camp-fire, will beat for the battle,

Will never grow colder.

Tr__a__nslat__e__d by Walter May__.

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Collections: Belarusan Lyric poetry