Lyrics Хорея козацька - Ой, на горі вогонь горить
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The lyrics of the song are provided for your reference Хорея козацька - Ой, на горі вогонь горить, and also a translation of a song with a video or clip.
Ой на горі вогонь горить,
А в долині козак лежить.
Постріляний, порубаний,
Китайкою накриваний.
Накрив очі китайкою
Червоною козацькою.
Не стій, коню, наді мною,
Не бий землі під собою.
Біжи, коню, дорогою,
Степовою широкою.
Щоб татари не зайняли,
Сіделечка не здійняли.
Сіделечка золотого
З тебе, коня вороного.
Як прибіжиш під батьків двір,
Стукни, грюкни об частокіл.
Вийде батько – розгнуздає,
А матінка – розпитає.
"Ой ти коню вороненький,
А де ж син мій молоденький?"
Візьми ж мати піску жменю,
Посій його на каменю.
А коли той пісок зійде,
Тоді син твій з війська прийде.
Нема піску, нема сходу,
Нема сина із походу.
Нема піску, вода змила,
Нема сина, куля взяла.
"Не плач, мати, не журися:
Бо вже син твій оженився.
Взяв він собі паняночку –
В чистім полі земляночку".
Oh on the mountain the fire is burning,
And in the valley of Cossacks lies.
Shot, chopped,
Chinese covered.
He covered his eyes with Chinese
Red Cossack.
Don't stand, horse, on me,
Do not beat the ground under you.
Run, horse, dear,
Steppe wide.
To keep the Tatars busy,
The sitters were not exercised.
The seat of gold
Of you, the raven's horse.
When you run under your parents' yard,
Knock on the stockade.
Father comes out - it unravels,
And the mother - asks.
"Oh you horse is a crow,
And where is my young son? "
Take a handful of sand,
Sow it on the stone.
And when that sand comes down,
Then your son from the army will come.
No sand, no sunrise,
There is no son from the campaign.
No sand, water washed,
No son, the bullet took.
"Don't cry, mother, don't worry:
Because your son is already married.
He got himself a young man -
In the clear field of the dugout. "
And in the valley of Cossacks lies.
Shot, chopped,
Chinese covered.
He covered his eyes with Chinese
Red Cossack.
Don't stand, horse, on me,
Do not beat the ground under you.
Run, horse, dear,
Steppe wide.
To keep the Tatars busy,
The sitters were not exercised.
The seat of gold
Of you, the raven's horse.
When you run under your parents' yard,
Knock on the stockade.
Father comes out - it unravels,
And the mother - asks.
"Oh you horse is a crow,
And where is my young son? "
Take a handful of sand,
Sow it on the stone.
And when that sand comes down,
Then your son from the army will come.
No sand, no sunrise,
There is no son from the campaign.
No sand, water washed,
No son, the bullet took.
"Don't cry, mother, don't worry:
Because your son is already married.
He got himself a young man -
In the clear field of the dugout. "