“Enemies burnt home house”

It is a very sad song.

[Rem. AMVAS.- It was very popular among common people, but was oficially forbidden]
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“Enemies burnt home house”

(Translated by Andrey)

Enemies burnt his home house
And killed all his family.
Where has the soldier to go now?
Where has he to carry his grief?

The soldier came in the crossroad of two roads
In the condition of some large grief.
In a wide field the soldier found 
A knob which was overgrown by grass. 

The soldier is standing and something like clots
Sticked in his throat.
The soldier said: “Meet me, Praskov'ia [1],
Meet you husband-hero. 

Prepare food for the guest,
Lay a wide table in a house,
I came to you to celebrate 
My day, my the holiday of a returning home.”

Nobody answered to the soldier,
Nobody met his.
And only a warm summer wind
Rocked the grass over the grave.

The soldier sighed, adjusted his belt,
Opened his haversack
And he put a bottle of alcohol
On the grey grave stone.

”Do not condemn me, Praskov'ia,
That I came to you such a sad.
I wanted to drink for a health
But I have to drink for a peace.

Friends will meet together again
But we shall never do it.”
And the soldiers drank a half-and-half some wine and grief
From a copper mug.

He, a faithful servant of his people, was drinking
And said with pain in his heart:
”I went to you for four years.
I subdued three countries…”

The soldier was becoming tipsy, a tear was rolling down his cheek,
The tear of might-have-been hopes.
And the medal for capturing of Budapest
Shined on his bosom.
The medal for capturing of Budapest…


Remarks of Andrey:
[1] “Praskov'ia” is a very rare peasant’s woman name.

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(Translated by Andrey with AMVAS's corrections)

Enemies burnt his home house,
Killed all his family.
Where has the soldier to go now?
To which has to carry his grief?

In great grief,
The soldier came to the crossroad of two roads.
In a wide field the soldier found,
The knob overgrown by grass. 

The soldier is standing and something like lumps
Stăck into his throat.
The soldier told: “Meet me, Praskov'ia [1],
Meet you husband-hero. 

Prepare regale for the guest,
Lay a wide table in izba,
My day, my home-coming holiday,
I came to you to celebrate"

Nobody replied to the soldier,
Nobody met him.
And only a warm summer wind
Was swinging grave grass.

The soldier sighed, adjusted his belt,
Opened his haversack
Put a bottle of bitters [2]
On the grey grave stone.

”Do not condemn me, Praskov'ia,
To come to you in such a way.
I wanted to drink the health of you.
But need to drink for the peace.

Again all friends will come together,
But we will never do the same”
And from a copper mug,
The soldier was drinking a wine and grief in two.

He, - a faithful servant of his people, was drinking
And with pain in heart was speaking:
”I went towards you for four years.
I subdued three powers…”

The soldier was becoming tipsy, a tear was rolling down,
A tear of might-have-been hopes.
And on his bosom,
The medal for Budapest was shining...

Remarks of Andrey and AMVAS:
[1] “Praskov'ia” is a very rare peasant’s woman name. (AMVAS: Now it's rare name. That time it was not so rare)
[2] "Vodka" has different names in Russian. In this case in original text was used "Bitters" name.
It's traditional allegorical name of Vodka

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The Russian version (translit):

"Vragi sozhgli rodnuiu khatu"

Vragi sozhgli rodnuiu khatu,
Sgubili vsiu ego sem'iu.
Kuda teper' idti soldatu?
Komu nesti pechal' svoiu?

Poshiol soldat v glubokom gore
Na perekriostok dvukh dorog.
Nashiol soldat v shirokom pole
Travoi zarosshii bugorok.

Stoit soldat, i slovno kom'ia
Zastriali v gorle u nego.
Skazal soldat: "Vstrechai, Praskov'ia,
Geroia - muzha svoego.

Gotov' dlia gostia ugoshchen'e,
Nakroi v izbe shirokii stol.
Svoi den', svoi prazdnik vozvrashchen'ia,
K tebe ia prazdnovat' prishiol."

Nikto soldatu ne otvetil,
Nikto ego ne povstrechal.
I tol'ko tioplyi letnii veter
Travu mogil'nuiu kachal.

Vzdokhnul soldat, remen' popravil,
Raskryl meshok pokhodnyi svoi,
Butylku gor'kuiu postavil
Na seryi kamen' grobovoi.

"Ne osuzhdai menia, Praskov'ia,
Chto ia prishiol k tebe takoi,
Khotel ia vypit' za zdorov'e,
A dolzhen pit' za upokoi.

Soidutsia vnov' druz'ia-podruzhki,
No ne soitis' voveki nam."
I pil soldat iz mednoi kruzhki
Vino s pechal'iu popolam.

On pil soldat, sluga naroda,
I s bol'iu v serdtse govoril:
"Ia shiol k tebe chetyre goda.
Ia tri derzhavy pokoril..."

Khmelel soldat, sleza katilas',
Sleza nesbyvshikhsia nadezhd.
I na grudi ego svetilas'
Medal' za gorod Budapesht.

Medal' za gorod Budapesht…