There is a land top-filled with woe,
And poorish sorrows that go unseen,
Where candle flames toss o’er the hearth.
And maidens' gentle ******* are torn

By their menfolk’s leave for noble wars.
Threads of grass spangled o’er with dew
Are trodden down by silken slippers,
Bitwixt the dusk and coming morn,
A princess weeps, her heart grief-stricken.

And in the pale and rising dawn,
A flame rolls over the orchard hills,
And blossom falls in bloodied paths
Of Wallach men marching Dragul trails.

As the maidens brush their gentle hair,
The window slits are lit aglow,
And brave menfolk return at last!
The bloodied wars have ended fast,
And Szelyk troops were struck aghast,
Hence no sorrow shall be rooted there.

Landed true their dying blows,
For thought of gentle women near,
The phoenix men felt no wordly fear.
And poorish sorrows go now to grave
Where kisses fall on those not saved.

There is a land now decked with cheer.