Where can I find sufficient strength and force
That could reverse the Dvina’s normal course,
And speed me, pillowed on its swirling foam,
Back to my native country, to my home?
I always strove to ride the storm’s high crest,
The fiercely raging tempest to outface.
Now I’m a slave, my suffering unredressed...
How can I stand such sickening disgrace?
If it weren’t just the river’s mighty flow
But my life could turn and backwards go,
I'd make it do so, and then as before,
I’d gladly sing the Homeland I adore.
But I’d do more than just write poetry.
I would again be spirited and bold.
I’d overpower all adversity,
To my life’s work I’d give my heart and soul.
In my own land I feel I’d die in peace,
The soil would welcome me in its embrace,
My songs would sound upon the wafted breeze,
A monument above my resting place.
My soul has not submitted to its bonds.
There's but one single boon for which it craves.
“Oh speed me, great Dvina, fat beyond,
Upon the rolling current of your waves!
Perhaps my weary soul will find relief
When by your tossing billows I’m sustained,
When my devotion people will believe
On seeing the homecoming of my remains...
Dvina, Dvina! If I could but enforce
The backward movement of your stately course,
I know you’d ferry me where I belong
And take along with me my freedom song.
октября 1943