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Grandfather's Fairy Tale By Lesya Ukrainka When I am wearied with the cares of life, The daily miseries I see around, I send my thoughts into the far-away, And peer intently in a land of dreams. What is it that I see in that far realm? I see the future, our posterity; And there amidst a family group I see An old grandsire who’s telling to his brood What seems a fairy tale about old times, Pure fable, all about what happened once. The family sits together round its sire, His sons and daughters, and their children too; And some of them are listening intently, While others seem enwrapped in their own dreams. The youngest grandchild sits ensconced beside The patriarch, and with keen shining eyes, Notes every movement that the old man makes. The grandsire speaks in quiet solemn tones: “Thrice happy children are ye who were bom In times of peace, in safe tranquility! Ye listen as I tell of evil times As of a fiction, awful but unreal. Yes, children, yes! Our world so lovely, free, Seemed like a dungeon to those old-time folk; And verily, it was a dungeon then. One nation crushed another ‘neath the yoke, And clamped down fetters on the spoken word. One half the world enjoyed no human rights, And brothers each the other slew in war. Do you know what it was they called the war? War was what we today called fratricide, Waged in the name of honor, freedom, truth, And bloodshed was to them a hero’s deed. Death by starvation they called poverty, And stolen property was simply wealth. Dark ignorance was called simplicity; Their learning was uncertain blundering. Inhuman punishment was called the Law, And despotism they named Rightful Rule, The proud and haughty won the world’s acclaim, The humble poor were treated with disdain. All mankind would have perished then for sure If tyrants could have quenched the tiny spark Of love to brother-man which still survived And in the hearts of some still lived and glowed. That spark did glow, it would not be put out, But glimmered till it burst into a flame Which blazed and banished all the darkness drear, And light became the mistress of the world! Such is the tale the old folk used to tell; But that all happened long before my time.” So spoke the grandsire, and the youngest child, Lifting his head, with bright and shining eyes, A happy smile upon his lips, then said: “Grandfather, that’s a dreadful fairy tale; I’m glad I didn’t live in times like that.” Editor’s Note: Grandfather’s Fairy Tale, was written by Lesya Ukrainka at the beginning of the twentieth century. This year, we commemorate the 13(fh anniversary of the birth of this prolific poetess and playwright who died August 1, 1913. In August 2001, Ukraine celebrated its tenth year as an independent nation of the twenty-first century. The words of Lesya Ukrainka, penned nearly a century ago, were sadly prophetic. Written to condemn the iniquities of a Czarist regime that had forbidden the Ukrainian language and had seduced members of the Ukrainian gentry to condone and even support Russian imperial goals, it could as easily be a litany of twentieth century evils which beset an oppressed nation — the famine, russification, Chornobyl. Percival Cundy’s translation was previously published in 1950 in Spirit of Flame: A Collection of the Works of Lesya Ukrainka, copyright UNWLA. Видання C оюзу Українок A мерики - перевидано в електронному форматі в 2012 році . A рхів C У A - Ню Йорк , Н . Й . C Ш A.
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