He's alive, he's alive! There on the Balkan Mountain
Drowning in his blood, groaning
A hero lies with a deep wound in his chest
A hero in his youth, in his prime.
His rifle's cast to one side
His broken sword the other;
His eyes dim - his head reels
As his mouth curses the universe!
The hero lies, while in the sky
The angry sun bakes down;
A harvest girl sings in far-off field
And his blood flows more quickly now!
It's harvest time ... so sing, you slave girls
Sing your sad songs! And you, sun -
Shine on that slavish land! This hero
Will perish too ... but be quiet, my heart!
He who falls in freedom's fight
Dies not - he's mourned
By earth and sky, Nature and beast,
And singers remember him in song...
Evening comes - the moon rises
Stars flood the vaulted sky;
The woods rustle, the wind blows -
The Balkan sings a hajdut song!
He who falls in freedom's fight
Dies not - he's mourned
By earth and sky, Nature and beast,
And singers remember him in song...