| I was in the days that are gone--
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| I was like an apple flower
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| A cowberry flower on a hillside
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| My father used to call me blossom
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| Mother used to call me sunrise
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| And a moon my sister called me
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| I went out to tend the cattle--
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| As a lassie out to herd sheep
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| To a brook I came thus herding
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| On the bank there stood a willow
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| From the willow fell a young lad
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| With a buckle, a belt in his hand
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| I, poor lassie, took to weeping,--
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| And the youngster wondered, asking
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| What is it you weep for, maiden?
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| There is something that I weep for
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| I do weep for my young brother
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| I have not seen him with my eyes
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| Since he went to war at a young age
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| Since he went to war at a young age
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| Do not weep for your young brother--
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| Look, there comes now your young brother
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| Under the castle oars are rowing
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| Above the castle the head is looking
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| I, poor lassie, began to listen,
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| I, the wretched one, started looking
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| I, poor lassie, began to listen,
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| I, the wretched one, started looking
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| But my brother stood beside me--
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| In front of me my mother’s young one |