Ivan Franko "In the Smithy" translated by Ivan Petryshyn
Ivan Franko "In the Smithy" translated by Ivan Petryshyn
In the valley, there’s a country side,
above the village, the mist’s spreading wide,
by the village, on an elevation,
there is a big smithy station.
In that smithy, a blacksmith is striking,
and his heart is deeply a-liking,
and he’s smithing singing in grace
calling up the people to his place.
“Come out, people, from the huts, from the fields!
here’s the place, where a better luck yields.
come out, people, till it’s not late,
get out from the fog, do not wait!”
But the fogs are a-rocking,
at the village, they are mocking,
over the fields, they are spreading,
blocking with darkness the people’s treadding,
Every path for them to block,
not to let them upwards from the fog,
to the smithy, where they forge
the weapons, bright,
instead of clogs, fetters and ties.
Translated from Ukrainian by Ivan Petryshyn
