II
The sun as a wheel now mounts the skies:
Marusenka’s ensphered by Paradise.
“This Eden, O maiden, who gave to thee?”
“God and my father!” sayeth she.
III
In the orchard, in the cherry orchard
We passed but now, young Wasyl stood.
He raised his cap in a lightsome mood.
He raised it and listened; he thought he heard
Song of a bird, song of a bird—
Sweet, sweet song of Zuzula6 winging.
But see! It was maids weaving wreaths and singing.