Say farewell, my dear girl friends,
My dear little doves,
If I was rude - don't be angry!
You, my darlings, will be off
To summer work,
For merry walks,
To winter parties, -
Remember me, my darlings,
In the spring, in the green meadows,
When you will be weaving wreaths
For me, for pretty maid.
I don't need a pale blue wreath:
I wove one for the last time
And threw it into the rapid river, -
The wreath was carried off to a strange land,
To the blue sea of Svalynsk.
Don't spill over, my quiet Danube,
Don't overflow green meadows!
In those meadows is feather grass,
In that grass walks a white deer,
Walks a white deer - golden horns.
Ivan the lord rode by,
Spiridonovich rode by,
And whipped the little deer with a lash.
"Don't beat me, Lord Ivan,
Don't beat me, Spiridonovich!
Someday I will prove useful to you:
You will marry - to the wedding will I come
The courtyard will I enter - the whole courtyard will
I light up,
The chamber will I enter - all the guests will I cheer,
And most of all your Maria,
So she will cry less,
So she won't grieve."
You get up, mother of mine!
You slept through the dark night,
But I, a young girl, did not sleep,
This dream appeared to me:
I was walking along steep mountains,
I was collecting thick berries.
The steep mountains are my sorrow,
The thick berries are my tears.
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