On the blue sea waves are roaring,
Mountain high they tower.
Crying in their Turkish dungeon
Wretched Cossacks cower.

“Why, O gracious God, this torture?
Two years now we lie here;
With the chains our hands are heavy—
Wilt Thou let us die here?

“Wings of Ukraina's Eaglets,
Yanichars cut, throwing
In the grave the living victims,
All their sorrow knowing.

“Hai! Ye youthful Zaporogians,
Have ye not arisen?
Sons of Freedom, ever glorious,
Rescue us from prison!”