The lads of the steppe have no equal
Song
The lads of the steppe have no equal, ; When they go out to reap the wheat, ; Their scythes are well-kept in the row, ; They gather the sheaves in song after them. ; ; The maidens of the steppe have no equal, ; They lay the sheaves neatly in their rows. ; Their reapers look upon them with pride, ; Their binders go crazy after them.