Come, Grandfather, blow on your pipe now,
And I will take up the tune
With songs of our heroes, of hajduks,
Songs of aged voivodes.
Let the lads hear and the lasses
At spinning-parties and wassails;
The champions up in the mountains,
The men as they sit in the taverns:
Hey!
Let them hear what kind of children
Heroic Bulgarian mothers have born us!
What kind of young men our country,
Our beautiful country has nurtured.
Happy is he who is able
To avenge all his will and his honour -
To do good to those that deserve it,
To slash at the bad with his dagger...
So I will take up my song now!
Hey!
Let them hear what kind of children
Heroic Bulgarian mothers have born us!
What kind of young men our country,
Our beautiful country has nurtured.
And should anyone want to suffer,
Should I say of him 'Poor devil?'
A hero puts up with no burdens -
For I have said and still say it:
Hey!
Let them hear what kind of children
Heroic Bulgarian mothers have born us!
What kind of young men our country,
Our beautiful country has nurtured.