(2/2)
Graze on, you, sheepish docile nations,
You’d never rise to honour’s horn!
Herds hardly dream of liberation,
They’re to be slaughtered or be shorn.
All they can pass through generations
Is a whip and jingly yoke they’ve worn.
A. Pushkin 1823 / translated D. Yahns 2023
(1/2)
A solitary freedom sower
With an unsullied pure hand
Before the morning star was over
I threw into the harrowed land
A seed of liberty once tasted.
But all that toil and time were wasted!
All gone like water through the sand…