"In the fourth year came sorrow Again; for when sorrow Once lightens upon you 80 To death he pursues you; He circles before you-- A bright shining falcon; He hovers behind you-- An ugly black raven; He flies in advance-- But he will not forsake you; He lingers behind-- But he will not forget.... "I lost my dear parents. 90 The dark nights alone knew The grief of the orphan; No need is there, brothers, To tell you about it. With tears did I water The grave of my baby. From far once I noticed A wooden cross standing Erect at its head, And a little gilt icon; 100 A figure is kneeling Before it--'Savyeli! From whence have you come?' "'I have come from Pesotchna. I've prayed for the soul Of our dear little Djoma; I've prayed for the peasants Of Russia.... Matrona, Once more do I pray-- Oh, Matrona ... Matrona.... 110 I pray that the heart Of the mother, at last, May be softened towards me.... Forgive me, Matrona!' "'Oh, long, long ago I forgave you, Savyeli.' "'Then look at me now As in old times, Matrona!' "I looked as of old. Then up rose Savyeli, 120 And gazed in my eyes; He was trying to straighten His stiffened old back; Like the snow was his hair now. I kissed the old man, And my new grief I told him; For long we sat weeping And mourning together. He did not live long After that. In the autumn 130 A deep wound appeared In his neck, and he sickened. He died very hard. For a hundred days, fully, No food passed his lips; To the bone he was shrunken. He laughed at himself: 'Tell me, truly, Matrona, Now am I not like A Korojin mosquito?' 140 "At times the old man Would be gentle and patient; At times he was angry And nothing would please him; He frightened us all By his outbursts of fury: 'Eh, plough not, and sow not, You downtrodden peasants! You women, sit spinning And weaving no longer! 150 However you struggle, You fools, you must perish! You will not escape What by fate has been written! Three roads are spread out For the peasant to follow-- They lead to the tavern, The mines, and the prison! Three nooses are hung For the women of Russia: 160 The one is of white silk, The second of red silk, The third is of black silk-- Choose that which you please!' And Grandfather laughed In a manner which caused us To tremble with fear And draw nearer together.... He died in the night, And we did as he asked us: 170 We laid him to rest In the grave beside Djoma. The Grandfather lived To a hundred and seven....