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Carpathian mountains on the blizzard winds ,
Severe frosts in winter pop .
        Damn Teuton comes to us ,
        Our power, to the cross of gold .
And my sweet black, black - browed ,
With the Germans fighting for their faith .
        Wanted Teuton that our Cossacks
        To serve their language throne would go .
And our Cossacks - nice Grunt ,
To serve their language throne did not.
       Played pipes , tubes , drums,
       Opened the door and went out infidels .
Boil the battle , the battle is merciless ,
Hot Blood flowed like a river .
        Cossack God asks tearfully begs
        To our fellow does not add up to the mound .
 At this mound stray birds
 Merry songs sung at dawn .

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