Виїхав Гонта, гей
Gonta rode out, hey, out of Uman ,
Drunk a goblet of horilka .
Sat on his raven steed ,
And a heavy gloom came over him.
Hey, from Uman, hey, all the way to Letychiv,
On the faraway mile, There lie Lachs, there lie lords, Strewn like slaughtered swine. Uman is in flames, so is Verbivka, and Vedmedivka as well,
The wind pents up the flames! -That's our Otaman, otaman Gonta, Calling his lads . Hey, shouts Gonta, hey, to Zaliznjak:
-Well, Maxym, my brother, -Take your sanctified [dagger] and finish them off, Let the evil szlachta die. |
Виїхав Ґонта, гей! Та й із Умані, Гей, від Умані, гей, до Летичіва, Палає Умань, гей! ще й Медведівка, Гей, як крикне Ґонта, гей! До Залізняка: |
Baroque Lute: Ноти, Міді, ((a))