Little Petrus
(From the Opera “Natalka Poltavka,” by Ivan Kotlarevsky)
Petrus I love, I love so well—
But I’m afraid, afraid to tell.
O the trouble he gives, the little Petrus,
Fair-skinned, with black moustache!
My mother knows—I wonder how—
That I’m in love with Petrus now.
O the trouble he gives, etc.
My mother beat me, you must know,
Because I love my Petrus so.
Although, my mother, you strike me,
Petrus will soon be mine, you’ll see!
If my Petrus is not in sight
Before a wind I bow down quite.
But if his eyes in mine should glance
With arms akimbo watch me dance!
How I have cooked! I love to bake
For dear Petrus delicious cake.
... Alas, he comes not.... What a loss
Was all my cooking! There across
The street comes tiresome Hritz instead
To eat my lovely cake and bread!
O the trouble he gives, the little Petrus,
Fair-skinned, with black moustache!