The flax, too, is growing So sweetly and bravely: "Ai! you little mite! You are caught and entangled!" A poor little lark In the flax has been captured; 60 It struggles for freedom. Pakhom picks it up, He kisses it tenderly: "Fly, little birdie!" ... The lark flies away To the blue heights of Heaven; The kind-hearted peasants Gaze lovingly upwards To see it rejoice In the freedom above.... 70 The peas have come on, too; Like locusts, the peasants Attack them and eat them. They're like a plump maiden-- The peas--for whoever Goes by must needs pinch them. Now peas are being carried In old hands, in young hands, They're spreading abroad Over seventy high-roads. 80 The vegetables--how They're flourishing also! Each toddler is clasping A radish or carrot, And many are cracking The seeds of the sunflower. The beetroots are dotted Like little red slippers All over the earth. Our peasants are walking, 90 Now faster--now slower. At last they have reached it-- The village 'Stripped-Naked,' It's not much to look at: Each hut is propped up Like a beggar on crutches; The thatch from the roofs Has made food for the cattle; The huts are like feeble Old skeletons standing, 100 Like desolate rooks' nests When young birds forsake them. When wild Autumn winds Have dismantled the birch-trees. The people are all In the fields; they are working. Behind the poor village A manor is standing; It's built on the slope Of a hill, and the peasants 110 Are making towards it To look at it close. The house is gigantic, The courtyard is huge, There's a pond in it too; A watch-tower arises From over the house, With a gallery round it, A flagstaff upon it. They meet with a lackey 120 Near one of the gates: He seems to be wearing A strange kind of mantle; "Well, what are you up to?" He says to the friends, "The Pomyeshchick's abroad now, The manager's dying." He shows them his back, And they all begin laughing: A tiger is clutching 130 The edge of his shoulders! "Heh! here's a fine joke!" They are hotly discussing What kind of a mantle The lackey is wearing, Till clever Pakhom Has got hold of the riddle. "The cunning old rascal, He's stolen a carpet, And cut in the middle 140 A hole for his head!"