The country - under the burden of injuries,
Under the yoke of arrogant abuse -
Like an angel, down wings,
as a woman, loses shame.
Silent folk genius.
And the voice does not deliver,
Unable to throw the yoke of laziness
In the fields lost people.
And only about a son, renegat,
All night madly crying mother,
Yes, the enemy sends his father curse
(After all, the old have nothing to lose!..)
A son - he changed homeland!
He guzzles wine with the enemy,
And the wind was breaking the window,
Appealing to the conscience and to life…
Not just you and Mademoiselle, Warsaw,
The capital of the proud Poles,
Dremati forced orava
Prussian military vulgar?
Life is dull lies underground,
Silent magnate palaces,
Only Pan-Frost to the ends
Fiercely rыщet of razdolьi!
Frantically fly over you
His gray head,
Or folding sleeve
Vzmetutsya storm over the houses,
Or a horse neigh - and ringing strings
Respond telegraph wire,
Ile vzdernet Ban furious occasion
And clearly repeat iron
Beats frozen hooves
According to the deserted bridge…
again, hanging his head,
Mr. Bezmolven, sadly killed…
AND, stranstvuâ the final breakout,
Spurs bloody saber…
Revenge! Revenge! - So echo over Warsaw
Ringing in the cold iron!
Spring 1911 - November 1915