After Shevchenko returned from his service in the army, he was a broken
man. His health was shattered, and while his spirit was not quenched,
there is a note of finality in much that he undertook. He had been
forced to realize the limitations on his sphere of activity. There
is a deeper note of austerity in his writings and a different spirit
animates most of his verses, a spirit which becomes more strong and
poignant as the end neared. The two following poems were written at
Nizhni Novgorod on his way back to St. Petersburg.
+Fortune+
You never played me false, I swear it:
You grudged to me a brother, sister,
And e’en a friend; you took me early
And led me as a little boy
And put me in a school for peasants,
Where I might learn from drunken clerk.
“Work hard, my darling! You will later
Become a man!”--These were your words,
And I obeyed, I studied hard,
And learned my lesson.
And you lied!
What sort of man! ’Twas all in vain.
We never played you false, I swear it,
We lived our life! And never, never
Left any seed of lie behind us ...
So let us go, my humble fortune,
My friend so poor, so free from guile,
Let us go on; ahead is glory
And glory is my only guide.
+The Muse+
O thou most chaste and holy maiden,
Of Phoebus the beloved young sister,
You took me when I was a child
And carried me into the meadow;
There on a tomb upon the meadow,
You wrapped me in a cloud of gray
Just as that freedom in the valley
And fondled me and sang your measures
And worked your charms ...
And I, meanwhile ...
O my enchantress ever fair,
You helped me wheresoe’er I was,
You watched o’er me wheree’er I was,
And everywhere, my star of brilliance,
You glowed, by evil never spotted,
And on the steppe, the barren steppe,
In my deepest prison
You shone there in gleaming raiment
Like flower in the field.
From the filthy hole of prison
You flew out to meet me
As a bird both pure and holy,
And above my person
You flew down with pennons golden
And you sang so sweetly.
You refreshed my thirsty spirit
With the living water.
And so I live, above my head
With all your Godlike charm and beauty,
You blaze forever, star of heaven.
You will receive me, cherubim,
Revered six-winged seraphim,
My holy counselor adored,
My fate which leads me since my youth,
Do not forsake me!
And at night
In daytime, evening, and the morning
Be with me ever, teach to me
With my sincere and truthful lips
To tell the truth!
Then help me too
To send a prayer unto my end;
And when I die, my sacred friend,
My loving mother, place your son
Within his small and narrow casket,
And show at least one little tear
In your immortal, holy eyes!