Cold waves rise and billow
On the wide Black sea.
The final sailor has left Sevastopol,
He departs, struggling on the waves.
The formidable, salty, raging rollers
Wave after wave crashed on the ship.
In the misty distance
One can not see land
As the ships have traveled so far.
The friendly sailors lifted up the hero
With the thundering sea boiling,
He clenched a stone with his blue hand
And said quietly, dying:
"When I left my birthplace,
I took this piece of granite with me...
And here, so distant
From the Crimean lands
We cannot forget about her.
Whoever takes this stone, please make them swear
That you will carry it with honor.
That they will be the first to return to the bay
And that they never forget this oath!
May he cherish the stone night, and day
A sailor's heart burns with fire.
May its holiness be preserved
My granite stone,
Is washing in Russian blood"
The stone passed through many ranging storms,
And they stood honorably in his place.
A familiar seagull flapped its wings,
And their heart now beats calmly.
The sailor of the Black Sea ascended the cliff,
And brought new glory to the Motherland,
And in the peaceful distance
The ships will go
Under the sun of the Homeland!