Bearing warrior’s arms.
I’ll weave charms upon thy saddle
With a silken clue:
Sleep, my baby, sleep, my heart’s blood,
Bai-oosh-kie-baiou.
Cossack to the core I read thee,
Hero-like thou’lt stand:
To the field myself I’ll lead thee—
Child! dost press my hand?
Ah, the bitter tears in secret,