Why can’t I be flying like a bird o'er mead,
Like this very raven that flew o'er head?
Why can’t I be soaring aloof in the sky
Where freedom alone will always be mine?
I’d rush to the west, to the west I would fly,
Where blossoming fields of my ancestors lie,
Where high on a hill, in a castle forlorn,
Remains of my fathers still rest in a tomb.
Where shields of my kinsmen and the glorious sword
Still hang on the wall in the empty parlor;
I’d fly to the sword and the shield overnight,
I’d brush dust away with a wing in a flight.
And the harps of the Scotts I would touch as I pass,
And the sound would rise to the vault, long suppressed,
And the only awakened and hearkening one
Would be me who unleashes the desolate sound.
But the dreams and the prayers stay useless, alas,
They can't change the destiny’s pitiless laws,
The seas of great vastness spread over my part,
They keep me and hills of my homeland apart.
The only descendent of warriors wanes
‘mid alien snows, in the land of the slaves,
I was born here but my soul never comes to agree,
– Why can’t I be flying like a raven so free?
1839/2010/VP