Memories Of An Exile

Memories of mine, Memories of home, Sole wealth of mine, Where’er I roam. When sorrows lower In evil hour And griefs o’ertake me You’ll not forsake me From the land of my early loves You will fly like grey-winged doves From broad Dnieper’s shore O’er the steppes to soar. Here the Kirghiz Tartars Dwell naked in poverty. They’re wretched as martyrs Yet this is their liberty; To God they may pray And none say them nay. Will you but fly to meet me, With gentle words I’ll greet ye. Of my heart ye children dear O’er past loves we’ll shed a tear.