He's right. 'Tis indeed
A most terrible sin!"
"The story speaks truly;
Our grief shall be endless,
Ah, me!" says the Elder. 90
(His faith in improvements
Has vanished again.)
And Klimka, who always
Is swayed in an instant
By joy or by sorrow,
Despondingly echoes,
"A terrible sin!"
The green by the Volga,
Now flooded with moonlight,
Has changed of a sudden: 100
The peasants no longer
Seem men independent
With self-assured movements,
They're "Earthworms" again--
Those "Earthworms" whose victuals
Are never sufficient,
Who always are threatened
With drought, blight, or famine,
Who yield to the trader
The fruits of extortion 110
Their tears, shed in tar.
The miserly haggler
Not only ill-pays them,
But bullies as well:
"For what do I pay you?
The tar costs you nothing.
The sun brings it oozing
From out of your bodies
As though from a pine."
Again the poor peasants 120
Are sunk in the depths
Of the bottomless gulf!
Dejected and silent,
They lie on their stomachs
Absorbed in reflection.
But then they start singing;
And slowly the song,
Like a ponderous cloud-bank,
Rolls mournfully onwards.
They sing it so clearly 130
That quickly our seven
Have learnt it as well.
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