CHAPTER I

BITTER TIMES--BITTER SONGS


_The Merry Song_

* * * * *

The "Merry Song" finished,
They struck up a chorus,
A song of their own,
A wailing lament
(For, as yet, they've no others).
And is it not strange
That in vast Holy Russia,
With masses and masses
Of people unnumbered,
No song has been born 10
Overflowing with joy
Like a bright summer morning?
Yes, is it not striking,
And is it not tragic?
O times that are coming,
You, too, will be painted
In songs of the people,
But how? In what colours?
And will there be ever