The horse returned without its rider

A young woman was weaving

With white thread at the loom

She was wearing a black dress

Her future was sombre

Why is your thread white

And your clothing black

Are you mourning your mother

Your old father perhaps

I do not mourn my mother

Nor my father

My youth has turned black

And I weep night and day

Swiftly your youth passes

Quickly time slips away

Cast off your black clothes

So your sorrow may pass

I mourn my first love

My young brave lad

His horse returned alone

Without its rider

He managed upon his saddle

To write my name

With blood from his vein

He says, “Marry, my heart

Do not wait, my eyes,

For me to return

My wound is too heavy

Here I will breathe my last

It is for freedom

Our national duty

To fight like wild beasts

Without question or fear”