As the calling alarm in thr night there appeared the sound of steps -
That’s the mark, that we have need to go without a word,
By untrodden and sinuos paths the horses have trampted,
Carrying their horsemen to the purpose unknown.

We have different times, hard times, but happiness,
As in old times is worth to be gained!
And we chase for it, fly, but it runs away,
And in gallop, at full tilt, we lose our best friends.

And for long we’ll take the mere lights as the fires,
And the creak of the jackboots will be ominous,
Old will be the names of the plays of a child,
People we will divide for the friends or the foes.

When the dins are all over, and fire, crying - the same,
When our horses get tired of gallop with us,
When the girls change the overcoats to dresses,
How could we then not to forget, not to pardon, to pass...