* * *

In far Siberia's deepest soil,
Preserve your proud, unflagging patience;
They won't be lost — your bitter toil,
And striving, lofty meditations.

The faithful sister to all woe,
Hope, in your subterranean houses,
Courage and gaiety soon arouses;
The hoped-for time will come, e'en so:

Then love and friendship will cut through
The gloomy bolts of your seclusion,
As into jail-holes this intrusion
Of my free voice now reaches you.

Then heavy chains fall by the board,
Then dungeons crack — and freedom's voices
Will greet you at the gate, rejoicing,
And brothers hand to you a sword.