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That there was some strange YaremaAt the head of all our forcesIn the raids I A. fool and folly!Beaten they can astm er nothing;Of the Cossacks, of the hetmans,Lofty tombs are with us.Nothing else remains among usAnd these too they ruin;And he wishes us to hearkenTo the elders chanting.Vain the labor, 0 sir brother!If you wish for money,Praise that man and each great marvel!Sing about MatryoshaOr Parashka, w h o ’s o u r pleasureSultans, spurs, and parquetThere is glory! If you’re singing‘See the blue sea playing’,He is weeping; and togetherAll your group of hearersIn their coats of gray ..True ’tis, wise men!Thank you for the counsel!Warms the leather, but I ’m sorryThat it ill becomes me,And your wise advice you’re breakingWith a stubborn slander.Pardon me and talk without me!I will still not heai’ken,Will not call you to my circle;You are wise, good people,I’m a fool and unattended,In my little cabin,I am singing, I am sobbingLike the Tittle children.I am singing: “See the blue sea”,Hear the wind a-blowing,Black’s the steppe and with its breezesSpeaks the tomb forsaken.I am singing; there are ruins,Tombs that rise still higher,Till a path the ZaporozhtsyTa the sea will open;Atamans on swift black horsesRob and plunder always’Fore their hosts; the rivers flowing’Mid the guns of heroeBHowl and groan in anger growing,35