H AI , Brethren, Oprishki—give me more horeevka!
On the camp-fire now heap on more wood.
If you tuned then my throat to the sound of Sopeevka,
I'd sing for as long as I could.

We are safe just as long as the green grass is growing—
If the forest of leaves be not bare,
If behind the thick bush and green pine we are going,
Even Chorts could not find us hid there.

As the heaven for birds, so for us are the hollows,
The caves in Carpathian crests.
We sleep till the stars, till our own shadow follows,
And then we creep out of our nests.

Tobacco we bring from far Hungary's borders
(Fleet horsemen their chase may give o'er),
The Jew merchant clothing shall give at our orders,
Or else he'll be nailed to his door.

Be joyful, my brothers, each day that is ours,
No life such as this can last long.
When snow falls our heads will hang down like the flowers;
No more shall be heard our glad song.

For Austrian soldiers, when first snow is falling,
In uniforms white will appear. . . .
Kolomea! Thy bells as of old may be calling—
Their chiming we never shall hear.