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In the old churchhouse of Wola General Sowinski remained, Old man with a wooden leg, Defending himself with a sword; All around him lie commanders Of battalions with their soldiers, Muskets scattered, broken cannons, Everything is devastated! The General will not surrender, The old man defends himself Leaning up against the altar On the sacred linen white, There he rests his weary elbow Where they lay the holy missals On the left side of the altar Where the priest reads from the Gospel Suddenly some soldiers enter, Servants of the Russian Marshall Paskiewicz, and beg him: "General, Surrender now, for why should you Die so miserably." On their knees They plead, as with their own father, "Hand us your sword now, General, Or the Marshall himself will come." "I'll not surrender to you, Sirs," The old man answered calmly, "Nor to you nor to the Marshall Will I give my sword away, Though the Czar himself demand it Though I'm old, I'll not surrender, But with sword I'll fight the battle While my heart yet beats within me. Even were there not so much as One last Pole upon this planet, I will be compelled to perish For the good of my dear country, And the fathers who begot me I must perish in the trenches, Sword in hand ‘til death still fighting ‘Gainst . . . the enemies of Poland . . . That ... this city might remember And our little children, too Who today are in their cradles As the bombs play in their ears. I will fight that these, our children When they're grown, may well remember That this day upon the ramparts Died a General -- with leg of wood. |
When I walked about the city, The youth would often laugh at me For walking on a stick of wood, And stumbling, old man, constantly. Let them now pronounce the verdict, Does this wooden leg well serve me, Will it direct me straight to God, And will it take me there quickly? My adjutants, stupid dandies, On your healthy legs so agile, When the battle cry was sounded Made good use of such good legs, Whereas I upon this altar Lean and rest, a crippled man, I can't go in search of death, But it will come in search of me. Do not kneel thus, Sirs, before me, I am not a holy man. But I am a Pole of honor Struggling to defend ... my life ... I forsooth am not a martyr, But I'll hold on ‘til the end And whom I can I'll slaughter, I'll give blood ... but not my sword." Thus spoke General Sowinski, Old man with a wooden leg . . . Then with flashing sword the General, Held the bayonets at bay; ‘Til one of the older soldiers Stabbed him mortally in the breast... Leaning lifeless ‘gainst the altar Standing on his leg ... of wood... |