V.
But, old moon, you know these women,
Know them through and through,
Know what troubles man has with them,
What is best to do . . .
Many farewells you've witnessed,
In your secret way,
Bitterness of parting moments
You can best portray.
Mother, sister, wife and daughter,
Zdenka, little tot,
Stood about, all softly weeping,
O’er my bitter lot.
Though I am a seasoned cossack,
Tried in many frays,
Something gripped my chest that moment,
Something dimmed my gaze.
So I pulled my fur cap downward
Simulating cheer
Lest the gendarmes should discover
In my eyes a tear.
For the gendarmes, near the doorway,
Stood as guard, erect,
That the parting scene might have
An imperial effect.
VI.
Blares the bugle . . . wheels are rattling
Toward Iglau we ride,
To prevent our losing something
Gendarmes trot beside.
On the hill, the Borov Chapel
Stands alone and sad,
Looking at me through the forests:
“Is it you, my lad?
