Текст песни Тарас Шевченко - Плач Ярославни

In Putivli-grad in the morning-early
Sings, Yaroslavna cries,
As that creeping smith,
Adds words of regret.
"I'll fly," he says, "with a zigzag,
That widow gull,
Yes, I'll fly over Don,
The beaver sleeve is wet
In the river Kayali. And on the body,
On princely white, weary,
I wash the blood dry, poison
Deep, severe wounds ... »

And quilting, Yaroslavna cries
In Putivl early on the shaft:
"The sail is my only wind,
Easy, winged sir!
Why on the strong wing
To my beloved,
Prince, my dear sweetheart,
Are you throwing arrows at Khan?
There was no heaven, no earth,
And the sea of ​​blue. At sea
Rock the ships.
And you, the prelate ... Woe! Grief!
My fun stole,
In the steppe on the sawdust ran.

He misses, quills, cries early
In Putivli-grad Yaroslavna.
And he says, "Old and old,
Wide Dnieper, not small!
You hit the high rocks,
Flowing into the earth is halved,
You wore kayaks
To the Polovtsian, to Kobyak
His wife Svyatoslav! ..
Oh my Slovak is glorious!
My good you bring,
To make my bed fun,
No tears were sent to the sea -
The tears of the sea will not overwhelm. "

And crying, crying Yaroslavna
In Putivli on the shaft on the gate,
The holy sun is gone.
And he says, “The sun will be holy
On earth joy brought
And to the people and the earth, mine
A longing-boredom did not dispel.
Holy, fiery lord!
You burned meadows, steppes,
He burned both the prince and his wife,
Slept me alone!
Or not warm or light.
I died ... I will die! »