Thou shalt not perish in its flames,

Nor find release in easy death

From Cossack blow. Not so, vile one!

In the hands of Moscow headsman,

In vain denials of thy guilt,

In torture, writhing on the rack,

Thou shalt curse the day, curse the hour,

When thou wert sponsor to our child;

The banquet when I filled to thee,

And loving-cup of honour drank;

The night when, like a bird of prey,

Thou durst to steal our darling dove".

There was a time Mazeppa old

And Kotzubei were close friends;

When ties of friendship bound them fast

With household bread, and salt, and oil;

When oft their steeds, close side by side,

Had brought them safe through scudding shot:

When oft, in secret room secure,

The I letman would a part reveal

Of his unsated, restless heart;

Would darkly hint in careful phrase

Of coming change, and treaties new,

And well-planned popular revolt.

Of this he spake, for in those days

The father of Marie was pledged

To aid and help Mazeppa's cause.

But now, the slave of passion fierce,

He had alone one aim in life:

Himself be slain, or else to slay,

His child dishonoured to revenge.

Meanwhile, his bold and daring scheme

He keeps close hidden from the world.