A Hungarian hussar riding his black horse

1. When a Hungarian hussar mounts his black horse, ; He cuts his scythe to one side on his weak forehead, ; Icy rain falls, my little horse is soaking wet, ; Hey, my bridle is icy, my weak arms are cold. ; ; 2. My horse is a chestnut, he doesn't eat oats, ; Even as a foal, he got on barley, ; My dear little angel, he got used to it, ; Hey, me, next to him, on the springy sofa.