Memories of an Exile
Memories of mine,
Memories of home,
Sole wealth of mine,
Where’er I roam.
When sorrows lower
In evil hour
And griefs o’ertake me
You’ll not forsake me
From the land of my early loves
You will fly like grey-winged doves
From broad Dnieper’s shore
O’er the steppes to soar.
Here the Kirghiz Tartars
Dwell naked in poverty.
They’re wretched as martyrs
Yet this is their liberty;
To God they may pray
And none say them nay.
Will you but fly to meet me,
With gentle words
I’ll greet ye.
Of my heart
ye children dear
O’er past loves
we’ll shed a tear.