Songs

Shche jak buly my kozakamy,
Still when were we Cossacks
A un’iji ne chut' bulo,
And the Union of Brest was not heard of,
Otam-to veselo zhylos'!
There happily was lived!
Bratalys' z vol'nymy ljakhamy,
We fraternized with free Poles,
Pyshalys' vol'nymy stepamy,
We were proud of the free steppes,
V sadakh kokhalysja, tsvily,
In orchards loved, blossomed,
Nenache l’il’iji, d’ivchata.
As though lilies were the girls
Pyshalasja synamy maty,
Was proud of her sons a mother,
Synamy vol'nymy... rosly,
Sons free… they grew,
Rosly syny i veselyly
Grew the sons and gave joy to
Stariji skorbn’iji l’ita...
Old sorrowful years…
Azh poky imenem Khrysta
Right until in the name of Christ
Pryjshly ks'ondzy i zapalyly
Came Roman Catholic priests and set aflame
Nash tykhyj raj. I rozlyly
Our quiet paradise. And spilled
Shyroke more sl'oz i krovi,
A wide sea of tears and blood,
A syrot imenem Khrystovym
And orphans in the name of Christ
Zamorduvaly, rozpjaly...
They murdered, crucified…
Ponykly holovy kozachi,
The Cossack heads drooped,
Nenache stoptana trava.
Just like trampled grass.
Ukrajna plache, stohne - plache!
Ukraine weeps, groans - weeps!
Za holovoju holova
After one head another head
Dodolu pada. Kat ljutuje,
To the ground falls. The hangman rages,
A ks'ondz skazhenym jazykom
And the Roman Catholic priest with furious tongue
Krychyt': “Te Deum! Alyluja!...”
Screams: “Te Deum! Hallelujah!...”