It makes no difference to me, If I shall live or not in Ukraine Or whether any one shall think Of me ‘mid foreign snow and rain. It makes no difference to me.
In slavery I grew ‘mid strangers, Unwept by any kin of mine; In slavery I now will die And vanish without any sign. I shall not leave the slightest trace Upon our glorious Ukraine, Our land, but not as ours known. No father will remind his son Or say to him, “Repeat one prayer, One prayer for him; for our Ukraine They tortured him in their foul lair.”
It makes no difference to me, If that son says a prayer or not. It makes great difference to me That evil folk and wicked men Attack our Ukraine, once so free, And rob and plunder it at will. That makes great difference to me.
Taras Shevchenko St. Petersburg Citadel Prison May, 1847 Translated by Clarence A. Manning Columbia University New York, 1944