This was long supposed to be a complete poem written by Shevchenko in
memory of his first love. Only in 1914 was it fully realized that it
was the preface to an unfinished poem _Maryana Chernetsa_ (Maryana
the Nun) and a considerable part of this poem was then published.
Unfortunately Shevchenko did not complete it and efforts to determine
the definite form of the poem have been in vain. The text as we have it
opens with the love of a peasant girl Maryana for a poor boy Petrus.
He leaves to seek his fortune. The girl promises to be true to him,
although her mother is determined that she will marry a rich old man.
The poem was then another in the series dealing with the poor girl
condemned to marry someone whom she did not love, one of the favorite
themes of Shevchenko.
+To Oksana K ...+
(_In memory of what was long ago_)
In the forest winds toss wildly
Branches and the poplars,
Break the oaks, and o’er the meadows
Sweep the tumbleweed.
So is fate: one man it crushes,
And another tosses,
Me it carries off; its purpose
It can never vision.
In what distant land am I destined to perish?
Where shall I lie down for my last endless sleep?
If there is no fortune and there is no joy,
There’s no one to feel. There’s no one to remember
Or say, e’en in jest, “Let him rest in his slumber,
It was his good fortune to perish so young.”
It’s true, O Oksana, O black-haired young stranger,
You do not remember that orphan of yore,
In his ragged coat, but who always was happy,
If he could but look at your beauty divine.
When you without speech, without words him instructed
To speak with his eyes, with his soul, with his heart,
With whom you have smiled and have wept and have sorrowed,
To whom you have sung the sad tale of Petrus?
You do not remember! Oksana! Oksana!
But I am still weeping, still sorrow till now.
I pour out my tears when I think of Maryana.
I look unto you and for you do I pray.
Remember, Oksana, O black-haired young stranger,
And deck your Maryana with blooms bright and gay,
And smile at Petrus, smile at him and be happy,
And be it a joke, yet remember the past.