Budrys and his sons by Adam Mitskevich

Budrys has three grown sons,

Like himself, Lithuanians.

He came to talk with the young branches:

"Children! Fix the saddles,

See the horses’  pedals,

And sharpen your swords  and poleaxes!

This fresh news is true words,

To the three corners of the world

Are planned in Vilnius to three directions:

Paz marches against the Poles swines,

Olgerd against the crack Prussians,

And Kestut to the Russian’s possessions.

You are young people, I mean,

You are strong and so daring,

May our gods do protect all of you!

I. am  not leaving for my age -

I’m sending you  the victory to catch.

There are three of you,  so three roaads  new.

There will be reward good!

Let one in the Great Novgorod

Benefits from great  the posseses  of the Russians.

Their wives, as if in regalia,

In sumptuous golden azalia,

Their houses're full with fish on gold-cloth.

And another from the Prussians,

from the damned roachians,

Can get much that is precious,

Money from entire the world,

Brightly colored cloth and robes

The ambers there as sand at the sea.

Let the third one, with Paz,

Strike  ungood Pole at once.

Poland lacks wealth and some splendor -

Let you take sabers from them.

But I sure, you from there

Do bring me a daughter as render.

itn the world there is no queen

beautifulest  than a Polish maiden.

She is as cheerful as a kitten by the stove,

And as rosy as a rose burgeon

And as white as sour cream;

Her eyes glow like two candles In row.

When I was younger, brood,

Once I also went to Poland,

And brought myself a wife from there;

So I'm living out my days,

And I always think of miss,

Whenever I look over there."

The sons said goodbye to him

And set out on their journey.

The homeset old man waited and waited for kids.

Day after day drearly passed,

And still not a single one at last.

Budrys thought: they might have been killed!!

Snow falls to the wide ground,

Older son rushes along the bare road,

And under his burka lies a heavy burden.

"What have they given you other?

Heh! Didn't they give you rubles?"

"No, my father, a young Polish maiden."

Fluffy snow falls lump then,

A rider rushes with his burden,

Overing it with a black cloak felt.

"What is under the burka?

Is it colored vicugna?”

"No, my father - a young Polish maid!”

Snow falls to the wide ground,

A third son rushes with his burden,

Covering it with a black burka steady.

Olden Budrys fusses adore,

Does not want to ask anymore,

And invites a lot guests to three weddings.