COSSACK SONGS

(Sixteenth Century)

Cossacks whistled! They were marching,Marching far away at midnight....Dark-brown eyes of MarusenkaThey will soon be blind from weeping.“Weep not, weep not, Marusenka,Be not sad—rise from thy sorrow!Pray the good God for thy dearest.”Rose the moon in windless silence—To the Cossack spake his mother,Her farewell with tears was given:“Go, then, go, my little son, now!Go, but see thou’rt not long absent.Come back when four weeks are over.”“Gladly would I, O my Mother,Come before a month is over,But ... my horse, my black horse splendidStumbled with me at our gateway!Oi! God knows—all’s in His willing—Whether I return home safely,Or on bloody field should lay me.Time of my return God knoweth,Only He—As thine own daughterKeep my Marusenka by thee....Hai! Don’t weep and don’t be sorry:Under me my horse is dancing,Prancing and curvetting proudly,Home ere long you may expect me!”

Cossacks whistled! They were marching,Marching far away at midnight....Dark-brown eyes of MarusenkaThey will soon be blind from weeping.

Cossacks whistled! They were marching,

Marching far away at midnight....

Dark-brown eyes of Marusenka

They will soon be blind from weeping.

“Weep not, weep not, Marusenka,Be not sad—rise from thy sorrow!Pray the good God for thy dearest.”

“Weep not, weep not, Marusenka,

Be not sad—rise from thy sorrow!

Pray the good God for thy dearest.”

Rose the moon in windless silence—To the Cossack spake his mother,Her farewell with tears was given:“Go, then, go, my little son, now!Go, but see thou’rt not long absent.Come back when four weeks are over.”

Rose the moon in windless silence—

To the Cossack spake his mother,

Her farewell with tears was given:

“Go, then, go, my little son, now!

Go, but see thou’rt not long absent.

Come back when four weeks are over.”

“Gladly would I, O my Mother,Come before a month is over,But ... my horse, my black horse splendidStumbled with me at our gateway!Oi! God knows—all’s in His willing—Whether I return home safely,Or on bloody field should lay me.Time of my return God knoweth,Only He—As thine own daughterKeep my Marusenka by thee....Hai! Don’t weep and don’t be sorry:Under me my horse is dancing,Prancing and curvetting proudly,Home ere long you may expect me!”

“Gladly would I, O my Mother,

Come before a month is over,

But ... my horse, my black horse splendid

Stumbled with me at our gateway!

Oi! God knows—all’s in His willing—

Whether I return home safely,

Or on bloody field should lay me.

Time of my return God knoweth,

Only He—As thine own daughter

Keep my Marusenka by thee....

Hai! Don’t weep and don’t be sorry:

Under me my horse is dancing,

Prancing and curvetting proudly,

Home ere long you may expect me!”

Hai! roll up! Eagles brave,To protect “the Tchighka” (Tchyka[24])And gain glory newly.Nobles all!Or we fall.Twice we die not, truly—Hai! Take arms. On we go!From our rifles we shall shout,We shall roar from cannon,With our sabres clashing—Nobles all,Or we fall!’Gainst our foemen dashing.Hai! Take arms. On we go!

Hai! roll up! Eagles brave,To protect “the Tchighka” (Tchyka[24])And gain glory newly.Nobles all!Or we fall.Twice we die not, truly—Hai! Take arms. On we go!

Hai! roll up! Eagles brave,

To protect “the Tchighka” (Tchyka[24])

And gain glory newly.

Nobles all!

Or we fall.

Twice we die not, truly—

Hai! Take arms. On we go!

From our rifles we shall shout,We shall roar from cannon,With our sabres clashing—Nobles all,Or we fall!’Gainst our foemen dashing.Hai! Take arms. On we go!

From our rifles we shall shout,

We shall roar from cannon,

With our sabres clashing—

Nobles all,

Or we fall!

’Gainst our foemen dashing.

Hai! Take arms. On we go!

THE YOUNG RECRUITS

Along the hills lies the snow,But the streams they melt and flow;By the road the poppies blow—Poppies? Nay, scarlet though they glowThese are no flowers—the young recruits!They are the young recruits!To Krym, to Krym they ride,The soldiers, side by side—And over the country wideSounds the beat of the horse’s stride.One calls to her soldier son:“Return, O careless one!Of scrubbing wilt have none?Let me wash thy head—then run!”“Nay, mother, wash thine own,Or make my sister groan.Leave thou thy son alone!Too swift the time has flown.“My head the fine spring rainWill soon wash clean again,And stout thorns will be fainTo comb what rough has lain.“The sun will make it dry,Wind-parted it will lie—So, mother mine, good-bye!”· · · · ·He could not hear her cry.

Along the hills lies the snow,

But the streams they melt and flow;

By the road the poppies blow—

Poppies? Nay, scarlet though they glow

These are no flowers—the young recruits!

They are the young recruits!

To Krym, to Krym they ride,The soldiers, side by side—And over the country wideSounds the beat of the horse’s stride.

To Krym, to Krym they ride,

The soldiers, side by side—

And over the country wide

Sounds the beat of the horse’s stride.

One calls to her soldier son:“Return, O careless one!Of scrubbing wilt have none?Let me wash thy head—then run!”

One calls to her soldier son:

“Return, O careless one!

Of scrubbing wilt have none?

Let me wash thy head—then run!”

“Nay, mother, wash thine own,Or make my sister groan.Leave thou thy son alone!Too swift the time has flown.

“Nay, mother, wash thine own,

Or make my sister groan.

Leave thou thy son alone!

Too swift the time has flown.

“My head the fine spring rainWill soon wash clean again,And stout thorns will be fainTo comb what rough has lain.

“My head the fine spring rain

Will soon wash clean again,

And stout thorns will be fain

To comb what rough has lain.

“The sun will make it dry,Wind-parted it will lie—So, mother mine, good-bye!”

“The sun will make it dry,

Wind-parted it will lie—

So, mother mine, good-bye!”

· · · · ·

He could not hear her cry.

(This song was composed before 1648)

All the oak forest is murmuring, murmuring:Thick veils of fog o’er the fields and wide meadows cling.“Go away, my son, from me—May the raiding Turk take thee!”“Mother, well the Sultan knowsThy brave son. (This witness shows.)“For he pays me from the mineTribute—gold and silver fine!”“Go away, my son, from me—May Litvà[25]soon capture thee!”“Litvà knows me too—I feedFrom her tribute, wine and mead.”“Go away, my son, from me,May the Tartars soon take thee!”“Those wild Hordes take, in much fear,Other roads when I draw near!”“Go away, my son, from me—Moscow! Let the Tzar take thee!”“But the Tzar likes me so well,With him I’ve been asked to dwell!”“Ah, my son, come home instead.Let me, dear one, wash thy head.”“Nay, my mother, nay. With rainWashing it I’ll not complain.“Winds will dry my dripping hair;Teren-bush[26]will comb it fair.”All the deebrova[27]is murmuring, murmuring—Leaden clouds over heaven lowering masses fling.“Farewell!” the sisters cry—for he must go with speed.She who is eldest born leads out his splendid steed.And then the second-born armour brings out to him:Youngest of all entreats—asks with her eyes tear-dim:“When, O my brother dear, comest thou back to us?”“Ah, sister! Of the sand take thou a handful thus....“Sow on a rock. Each dawn water it with thy tears.That day the sand springs up—thy brother lost appears!”

All the oak forest is murmuring, murmuring:Thick veils of fog o’er the fields and wide meadows cling.

All the oak forest is murmuring, murmuring:

Thick veils of fog o’er the fields and wide meadows cling.

“Go away, my son, from me—May the raiding Turk take thee!”

“Go away, my son, from me—

May the raiding Turk take thee!”

“Mother, well the Sultan knowsThy brave son. (This witness shows.)

“Mother, well the Sultan knows

Thy brave son. (This witness shows.)

“For he pays me from the mineTribute—gold and silver fine!”

“For he pays me from the mine

Tribute—gold and silver fine!”

“Go away, my son, from me—May Litvà[25]soon capture thee!”

“Go away, my son, from me—

May Litvà[25]soon capture thee!”

“Litvà knows me too—I feedFrom her tribute, wine and mead.”

“Litvà knows me too—I feed

From her tribute, wine and mead.”

“Go away, my son, from me,May the Tartars soon take thee!”

“Go away, my son, from me,

May the Tartars soon take thee!”

“Those wild Hordes take, in much fear,Other roads when I draw near!”

“Those wild Hordes take, in much fear,

Other roads when I draw near!”

“Go away, my son, from me—Moscow! Let the Tzar take thee!”

“Go away, my son, from me—

Moscow! Let the Tzar take thee!”

“But the Tzar likes me so well,With him I’ve been asked to dwell!”

“But the Tzar likes me so well,

With him I’ve been asked to dwell!”

“Ah, my son, come home instead.Let me, dear one, wash thy head.”

“Ah, my son, come home instead.

Let me, dear one, wash thy head.”

“Nay, my mother, nay. With rainWashing it I’ll not complain.

“Nay, my mother, nay. With rain

Washing it I’ll not complain.

“Winds will dry my dripping hair;Teren-bush[26]will comb it fair.”

“Winds will dry my dripping hair;

Teren-bush[26]will comb it fair.”

All the deebrova[27]is murmuring, murmuring—Leaden clouds over heaven lowering masses fling.

All the deebrova[27]is murmuring, murmuring—

Leaden clouds over heaven lowering masses fling.

“Farewell!” the sisters cry—for he must go with speed.She who is eldest born leads out his splendid steed.

“Farewell!” the sisters cry—for he must go with speed.

She who is eldest born leads out his splendid steed.

And then the second-born armour brings out to him:Youngest of all entreats—asks with her eyes tear-dim:

And then the second-born armour brings out to him:

Youngest of all entreats—asks with her eyes tear-dim:

“When, O my brother dear, comest thou back to us?”“Ah, sister! Of the sand take thou a handful thus....

“When, O my brother dear, comest thou back to us?”

“Ah, sister! Of the sand take thou a handful thus....

“Sow on a rock. Each dawn water it with thy tears.That day the sand springs up—thy brother lost appears!”

“Sow on a rock. Each dawn water it with thy tears.

That day the sand springs up—thy brother lost appears!”

Cuckoo! calls the Cuckoo....In the dawn, in the dawn the young Cossacks are crying,Far away from their loves, in prison lying,The dungeon’s dark, their hope is gone,But the Cuckoo calls, in the dawn, in the dawn!Blows the wind, blows the wind—From the sea were it blowing’Twould bear us away beyond all knowing!Our heavy chains we’d leave behindIf over the sea should come the wind.O the sun! O the sun in Ukraine shining!Take us to where our loves are pining....The Cossacks have their dance begun,The dance of joy, in the sun, in the sun.Blue sea! On the sea with the wind they’re dancing—Our brothers surely are advancingFrom prison chains the sad to free.O swiftly come, o’er the sea, o’er the sea!Cuckoo, calls the Cuckoo....In the dawn, in the dawn the Sultan sleepingIs wakened by the sound of weeping—“Bind stronger chains their limbs uponThat none may flee, in the dawn, in the dawn!”

Cuckoo! calls the Cuckoo....

In the dawn, in the dawn the young Cossacks are crying,Far away from their loves, in prison lying,The dungeon’s dark, their hope is gone,But the Cuckoo calls, in the dawn, in the dawn!

In the dawn, in the dawn the young Cossacks are crying,

Far away from their loves, in prison lying,

The dungeon’s dark, their hope is gone,

But the Cuckoo calls, in the dawn, in the dawn!

Blows the wind, blows the wind—From the sea were it blowing’Twould bear us away beyond all knowing!Our heavy chains we’d leave behindIf over the sea should come the wind.

Blows the wind, blows the wind—From the sea were it blowing

’Twould bear us away beyond all knowing!

Our heavy chains we’d leave behind

If over the sea should come the wind.

O the sun! O the sun in Ukraine shining!Take us to where our loves are pining....The Cossacks have their dance begun,The dance of joy, in the sun, in the sun.

O the sun! O the sun in Ukraine shining!

Take us to where our loves are pining....

The Cossacks have their dance begun,

The dance of joy, in the sun, in the sun.

Blue sea! On the sea with the wind they’re dancing—Our brothers surely are advancingFrom prison chains the sad to free.O swiftly come, o’er the sea, o’er the sea!

Blue sea! On the sea with the wind they’re dancing—

Our brothers surely are advancing

From prison chains the sad to free.

O swiftly come, o’er the sea, o’er the sea!

Cuckoo, calls the Cuckoo....

In the dawn, in the dawn the Sultan sleepingIs wakened by the sound of weeping—“Bind stronger chains their limbs uponThat none may flee, in the dawn, in the dawn!”

In the dawn, in the dawn the Sultan sleeping

Is wakened by the sound of weeping—

“Bind stronger chains their limbs upon

That none may flee, in the dawn, in the dawn!”

COSSACK MARCHING SONG

(Semi-historical)

The Harvesters are reaping on the hill-side,And in the valley where the grass is greenThe Cossacks leap astride their horses lean.That gallant hetman, Doroshonko,Is leading all his troop with right good-will—Over at last the weary days of drill!And see that captain stationed in the centre,His steed is prancing, pawing up the ground ...Brave Sahaidachni, at the rear, looks round.In fair exchange for pipe and for tobaccoHe’s said adieu to Priska, his good wife—“Such a mistake! The greatest of my life!”So is he thinking when he hears one calling:“Come back, come back and take your wife once more;My pipe and my tobacco please restore!”“Ah, ha!” he shouts, “a wife I’ll not be needing—But your carved pipe is handy on the road.What a fine thing you have on me bestowed!“Hai! Who goes there? Pass, friend—and on we’re faring;With flint and steel I’ll get a puff or two,So then—don’t worry—and good-bye to you.”

The Harvesters are reaping on the hill-side,And in the valley where the grass is greenThe Cossacks leap astride their horses lean.

The Harvesters are reaping on the hill-side,

And in the valley where the grass is green

The Cossacks leap astride their horses lean.

That gallant hetman, Doroshonko,Is leading all his troop with right good-will—Over at last the weary days of drill!

That gallant hetman, Doroshonko,

Is leading all his troop with right good-will—

Over at last the weary days of drill!

And see that captain stationed in the centre,His steed is prancing, pawing up the ground ...Brave Sahaidachni, at the rear, looks round.

And see that captain stationed in the centre,

His steed is prancing, pawing up the ground ...

Brave Sahaidachni, at the rear, looks round.

In fair exchange for pipe and for tobaccoHe’s said adieu to Priska, his good wife—“Such a mistake! The greatest of my life!”

In fair exchange for pipe and for tobacco

He’s said adieu to Priska, his good wife—

“Such a mistake! The greatest of my life!”

So is he thinking when he hears one calling:“Come back, come back and take your wife once more;My pipe and my tobacco please restore!”

So is he thinking when he hears one calling:

“Come back, come back and take your wife once more;

My pipe and my tobacco please restore!”

“Ah, ha!” he shouts, “a wife I’ll not be needing—But your carved pipe is handy on the road.What a fine thing you have on me bestowed!

“Ah, ha!” he shouts, “a wife I’ll not be needing—

But your carved pipe is handy on the road.

What a fine thing you have on me bestowed!

“Hai! Who goes there? Pass, friend—and on we’re faring;With flint and steel I’ll get a puff or two,So then—don’t worry—and good-bye to you.”

“Hai! Who goes there? Pass, friend—and on we’re faring;

With flint and steel I’ll get a puff or two,

So then—don’t worry—and good-bye to you.”

When the Cossacks under Khmelnitzky expelled the Poles from the Ukraine

Hai, all ye good people! list what I tell ye,What’s done in Ukraina’s plain—There under Dashiev, across the Soroka,What numbers of Poles now lie slain.Hai, Perebiynees! But seven hundredCossacks he asked for that day.Then he with sabres smote the Poles’ heads off—The rest swept the river away.Drink ye swamp water, Oi! all ye Poles now—Quench thirst at each rain-pond ye see....And once ye were drinking, in our Ukraina,Wine and sweet mead flowing free!Each Polish “Pan” is lost now in wonder;“What do these brave Cossacks eat?Verily, look ye, they live just on pike-flesh,Solamàkha[28]with water their meat.”Look now, ye Poles, whom our Hetman KhmelnitzkyFought on the grim “Yellow Sands,”Of all your army fighting young CossacksNot one has escaped from our hands.See, Pole! A Cossack is dancing, is dancingUpon a grey horse after thee!When he stands with his musket thy heart sinks in anguishIn great fear of death thou dost flee.We own the whole land e’en as far as Sluch river,Kostiana! As far as thy Hill—O rude and uncourteous! Poles caused our revoltingSo mourn they their lost Ukraine still.As a thunder-cloud brooding on Vistula’s riverThe Poles lie, expelled from Ukraine.As long as we live they shall no more leave Poland,They shall not come nigh us again.Hai! All ye young Cossacks! Leap up now with shouting—Akimbo our arms let us place.We threw all the Poles across Vistula’s waters—And here they won’t dare show their face!

Hai, all ye good people! list what I tell ye,What’s done in Ukraina’s plain—There under Dashiev, across the Soroka,What numbers of Poles now lie slain.

Hai, all ye good people! list what I tell ye,

What’s done in Ukraina’s plain—

There under Dashiev, across the Soroka,

What numbers of Poles now lie slain.

Hai, Perebiynees! But seven hundredCossacks he asked for that day.Then he with sabres smote the Poles’ heads off—The rest swept the river away.

Hai, Perebiynees! But seven hundred

Cossacks he asked for that day.

Then he with sabres smote the Poles’ heads off—

The rest swept the river away.

Drink ye swamp water, Oi! all ye Poles now—Quench thirst at each rain-pond ye see....And once ye were drinking, in our Ukraina,Wine and sweet mead flowing free!

Drink ye swamp water, Oi! all ye Poles now—

Quench thirst at each rain-pond ye see....

And once ye were drinking, in our Ukraina,

Wine and sweet mead flowing free!

Each Polish “Pan” is lost now in wonder;“What do these brave Cossacks eat?Verily, look ye, they live just on pike-flesh,Solamàkha[28]with water their meat.”

Each Polish “Pan” is lost now in wonder;

“What do these brave Cossacks eat?

Verily, look ye, they live just on pike-flesh,

Solamàkha[28]with water their meat.”

Look now, ye Poles, whom our Hetman KhmelnitzkyFought on the grim “Yellow Sands,”Of all your army fighting young CossacksNot one has escaped from our hands.

Look now, ye Poles, whom our Hetman Khmelnitzky

Fought on the grim “Yellow Sands,”

Of all your army fighting young Cossacks

Not one has escaped from our hands.

See, Pole! A Cossack is dancing, is dancingUpon a grey horse after thee!When he stands with his musket thy heart sinks in anguishIn great fear of death thou dost flee.

See, Pole! A Cossack is dancing, is dancing

Upon a grey horse after thee!

When he stands with his musket thy heart sinks in anguish

In great fear of death thou dost flee.

We own the whole land e’en as far as Sluch river,Kostiana! As far as thy Hill—O rude and uncourteous! Poles caused our revoltingSo mourn they their lost Ukraine still.

We own the whole land e’en as far as Sluch river,

Kostiana! As far as thy Hill—

O rude and uncourteous! Poles caused our revolting

So mourn they their lost Ukraine still.

As a thunder-cloud brooding on Vistula’s riverThe Poles lie, expelled from Ukraine.As long as we live they shall no more leave Poland,They shall not come nigh us again.

As a thunder-cloud brooding on Vistula’s river

The Poles lie, expelled from Ukraine.

As long as we live they shall no more leave Poland,

They shall not come nigh us again.

Hai! All ye young Cossacks! Leap up now with shouting—Akimbo our arms let us place.We threw all the Poles across Vistula’s waters—And here they won’t dare show their face!

Hai! All ye young Cossacks! Leap up now with shouting—

Akimbo our arms let us place.

We threw all the Poles across Vistula’s waters—

And here they won’t dare show their face!

On the blue sea waves are roaring,Mountain high they tower.Crying in their Turkish dungeonWretched Cossacks cower.“Why, O gracious God, this torture?Two years now we lie here;With the chains our hands are heavy—Wilt Thou let us die here?“Wings of Ukraina’s Eaglets,Yanichars[29]cut, throwingIn the grave the living victims,All their sorrow knowing.“Hai! Ye youthful Zaporogians,[30]Have ye not arisen?Sons of Freedom, ever glorious,Rescue us from prison!”

On the blue sea waves are roaring,Mountain high they tower.Crying in their Turkish dungeonWretched Cossacks cower.

On the blue sea waves are roaring,

Mountain high they tower.

Crying in their Turkish dungeon

Wretched Cossacks cower.

“Why, O gracious God, this torture?Two years now we lie here;With the chains our hands are heavy—Wilt Thou let us die here?

“Why, O gracious God, this torture?

Two years now we lie here;

With the chains our hands are heavy—

Wilt Thou let us die here?

“Wings of Ukraina’s Eaglets,Yanichars[29]cut, throwingIn the grave the living victims,All their sorrow knowing.

“Wings of Ukraina’s Eaglets,

Yanichars[29]cut, throwing

In the grave the living victims,

All their sorrow knowing.

“Hai! Ye youthful Zaporogians,[30]Have ye not arisen?Sons of Freedom, ever glorious,Rescue us from prison!”

“Hai! Ye youthful Zaporogians,[30]

Have ye not arisen?

Sons of Freedom, ever glorious,

Rescue us from prison!”

LAMENT FOR MOROZENKO

(This Cossack song of the seventeenth century is sung to a mournful air which makes a splendid funeral march. Morozenko was an Ukrainian Governor of a province killed in war with the Tartars.)

Trenches along the foot of the mountain—They took Morozenko on Sunday morning.The Tartars nor slashed him, nor pierced him with spears;They tore out the heart from the white, white breast,And they led him to Savour-Mohyla’s height:“Look thou, O son of the foe, down there!Look on thine Ukraine stretching far!”They set him down on the yellow sands,And they took off from him a red, red shirt.[31]Oi, Moroze, Morozenko!Thou glorious Cossack.All Ukraine laments thee,O brave Morozenko!Much more thy bold army,O glorious Cossack!· · · · ·On the way to the town Morozikha wept—Sore wept Morozikha for her son.“Don’t cry, Morozikha, don’t be sad.Come with us Cossacks to drink wine-mead.”“Drink your good health, if drink you would,But around my head misfortune flies.Drink your good health, if drink you may....Oi, where does he fight, my son, my son!Does he fight with the Tartars, one by one?”“Don’t cry, Morozikha, don’t be sad;Come with us Cossacks to look on....For see! A horse walks behind a wagon,A bloody wagon it walks behind.It carries your glorious Moroze,The white flesh cut, the brave head broken,The face is covered with red kitayka.[32]...”Oi, Moroze, Morozenko!Thou glorious Cossack—All Ukraine shall weepAnd mourn for thee.

Trenches along the foot of the mountain—

They took Morozenko on Sunday morning.

The Tartars nor slashed him, nor pierced him with spears;

They tore out the heart from the white, white breast,

And they led him to Savour-Mohyla’s height:

“Look thou, O son of the foe, down there!

Look on thine Ukraine stretching far!”

They set him down on the yellow sands,

And they took off from him a red, red shirt.[31]

Oi, Moroze, Morozenko!Thou glorious Cossack.All Ukraine laments thee,O brave Morozenko!Much more thy bold army,O glorious Cossack!

Oi, Moroze, Morozenko!

Thou glorious Cossack.

All Ukraine laments thee,

O brave Morozenko!

Much more thy bold army,

O glorious Cossack!

· · · · ·

On the way to the town Morozikha wept—Sore wept Morozikha for her son.

On the way to the town Morozikha wept—

Sore wept Morozikha for her son.

“Don’t cry, Morozikha, don’t be sad.Come with us Cossacks to drink wine-mead.”

“Don’t cry, Morozikha, don’t be sad.

Come with us Cossacks to drink wine-mead.”

“Drink your good health, if drink you would,But around my head misfortune flies.Drink your good health, if drink you may....Oi, where does he fight, my son, my son!Does he fight with the Tartars, one by one?”

“Drink your good health, if drink you would,

But around my head misfortune flies.

Drink your good health, if drink you may....

Oi, where does he fight, my son, my son!

Does he fight with the Tartars, one by one?”

“Don’t cry, Morozikha, don’t be sad;Come with us Cossacks to look on....For see! A horse walks behind a wagon,A bloody wagon it walks behind.It carries your glorious Moroze,The white flesh cut, the brave head broken,The face is covered with red kitayka.[32]...”

“Don’t cry, Morozikha, don’t be sad;

Come with us Cossacks to look on....

For see! A horse walks behind a wagon,

A bloody wagon it walks behind.

It carries your glorious Moroze,

The white flesh cut, the brave head broken,

The face is covered with red kitayka.[32]...”

Oi, Moroze, Morozenko!Thou glorious Cossack—All Ukraine shall weepAnd mourn for thee.

Oi, Moroze, Morozenko!

Thou glorious Cossack—

All Ukraine shall weep

And mourn for thee.

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