 | [Cossack song, in] Poems of Places |  |
4
COSSACK SONG.
You must fly, ye winds of Tartary!
If ye hope to catch our band;
For they skim o'er the tall rank grasses,
And tramp on the wastes of sand,
Swifter than winds or waters,
With their long spears in their hand!
If ye hope to catch our band;
For they skim o'er the tall rank grasses,
And tramp on the wastes of sand,
Swifter than winds or waters,
With their long spears in their hand!
Ride on! ride on, brave Cossacks!
For never a foe will stand;
Ye shall break and scatter their craven ranks,
As your mad steeds scatter the sand:
The devil himself would run from you,
With your long spears in your hand!
For never a foe will stand;
Ye shall break and scatter their craven ranks,
As your mad steeds scatter the sand:
The devil himself would run from you,
With your long spears in your hand!
Anonymous.
| [Cossack song, in] Poems of Places | |