Skip to content
Call Us Today! 212-533-4646 | MON-FRI 12PM - 4PM (EST)
DONATE
SUBSCRIBE
Search for:
About Us
UNWLA 100
Publications
FAQ
Annual Report 2023
Annual Report 2022
Annual Report 2021
Initiatives
Advocate
Educate
Cultivate
Care
News
Newsletters
Sign Up For Our Newsletter
Join UNWLA
Become a Member
Volunteer With Us
Donate to UNWLA
Members Portal
Calendar
Shop to Support Ukraine
Search for:
Print
Print Page
Download
Download Page
Download Right Page
Open
1
2-3
4-5
6-7
8-9
10-11
12-13
14-15
16-17
18-19
20-21
22-23
24-25
26-27
28-29
30-31
32-33
34-35
36-37
38-39
40
OUR LIFE Monthly, published by Ukrainian National Women’s League of America vo l . xlviii MARCH 1991 Editor: Marta Baczynsky TARAS SHEVCHENKO My thirteenth year was wearing on — Grazing the lambs, one day I was Beyond the village. The sun shone Perhaps? Or was it without cause? Such joy, such joy, as at the throne Of God I fe lt... They’d called already for our food, But I, among the weeds, remained Alone, and prayed to God. Indeed, Why I, a small boy, wished to pray So eagerly, I do not know, Nor how my happiness was caused. Around, the village and the Lord’s Sky, the lambs, it seemed, rejoiced, The sun shone warm — yet did not scorch. Not long the sun shone fair and warm, Not long my prayers I murmured, The sun blazed fiery red above, And set this heaven burning. As if aroused from sleep, I looked: The village had grown dark, Even God’s azure sky above — That too was cheerless, stark. I turned my eyes towards the lambs — These lambs were not mine; I looked yonder to the houses — No home there I’d find. God did not give me anything! And tears started flow ing... Bitter tears... But a young girl, Over by the roadside, Only a few steps away, Was plucking hemp, and she Heard my sobs, came to my side And spoke kind words to me, Gently wiped away my tears, And kissed me tenderly. It seemed once more the sun shone bright, As if the whole wide world were mine: The fields, the spinneys, and the orchards .. And laughing, we began to drive Those lambs, that were not ours, to water. Тарасик у школі в дяка. Рисунок С. Карафи Корбут. Young Taras in the deacon’s school. Idle dreams, indeed! But even Now, when I recall, my heart Aches, weeps: why, God, let me not pass My little span in that dear heaven? Ploughing the field I would have died, Ignorant of it all, would not Have lived on earth an outcast’s life Would not have cursed both men and (God)! From:“Poems”, Molode Zyttia, Munich; 1961. Published through the efforts of Plast group “Ті, shcho hrebli rvyt’.’’
Page load link
Go to Top
1 
2-3 
4-5 
6-7 
8-9 
10-11 
12-13 
14-15 
16-17 
18-19 
20-21 
22-23 
24-25 
26-27 
28-29 
30-31 
32-33 
34-35 
36-37 
38-39 
40 
