They seized hold of the height, like something of their own.
Firing of mortars, heavy fire...
And we all climbed up on it in crowds,
Like to a buffet in a railway station.

 
 
 
 

And the cry "Hurrah" became torpid in the mouth,
As we swallowed the bullets.
Seven times we occupied this hill -
Seven time we left it.

And nobody wants the attack again,
The earth is like burnt kasha...
At the eighth time we get it for good -
We get what’s ours, our vital interests!

But one can go round the side of it, -
And why do we cling to it?!
But all the ways of fate obviously
Cross at this height.