When Basil died...

When Basil died, far on the march?
He dreamed of his land at the last.
'Farewell, ah, farewell, ploughland strips,
Farewell, too, to you, unploughed fallow,
I shall never plough you again,
Nor at dawn sow a rich crop of grain,
Dark meadow, I'll not gaze on thee more,
Thou clean, broad field stretching boundlessly!
Nevermore to walk across thee shall I go,
Nevermore the green grass shall I mow.
I am leaving thee, pinewood sincere,
Dark and dreaming, forest primeval!
No longer shall I hear thee rustle so,
No more lay thy lofty pines low.
Ah, farewell to you, my dearest friends!
No more to press you close to my heart,
Sit with you, in jokes and talk take my part.
Ah, a reverent farewell, Belarus,
Thou my country all fortuneless.
Thy son does not forget his mother,
For thee he'll lie here, earth his cover...'
When Basil died far on the march,
He dreamed of his land at the last.

Maxim Bahdanovich 1915