( Written at the time of the emancipation of the
serfs. )
O'er thy plains, my
native country,
In the years now past
away,
Never did I ride with
feelings
Such as fill my soul
to-day!
In its mother's arms
reposing,
Lo! a peasant's child I
see,
And my heart is stirred
to gladness
By a thought most dear
to me.
