There Goes Our Gusli

There goes our gusli,

There goes our resonant gusli.

It goes along the benches,

It marches forward along the benches.

Here the gusli falls,

Here the dulcimer takes

A girl by her hand,

By her white hand,

By her golden signet.

A woman walks in the yard,

Mowing the grass.

She mows and tears the grass,

And puts it in her white apron.

And as she does, she speaks,

She speaks and casts a spell:

“I’ll take the one I love,

And the one I don’t, I’ll toss aside.”