Mene, Mene

In that green land behind you
The well-loved homesteads stand
Quiet as when you left them
To spoil a little land.
And still your busy housewives
Sit knitting unafraid
And still your children play as once
The Flemish children played.

In that green land behind you
Whence you went forth to kill
Your maids await their lovers.
With hope their bosoms thrill.
Oh lips too sweet almost to kiss,
Oh eyes grown bright in vain —
So waited many a Flemish maid
Whom none shall kiss again.

In that green land behind you.
Heard you a bugle call?
See you in dreams a writhing form
On every homestead wall?
What is yon cloud that grows and grows?
The Cossacks ride that way —
Pray that their hearts be not as yours—
If Gods be left you, pray!