Russian Folk Song

Oh, you epic land, Long-suffering land, More than once consumed by fire, My Holy Rus. I was born and raised here, Dreaming of freedom true, Which, through no fault of my own, I have been denied since birth. Here are the most skilled, Masters of every craft, And the wondrous Russian maidens, Beautiful and gentle. Crowning the Russian land, Glorious in its beauty, The golden-domed capital, Oh, Mother Moscow. In the chambers and mansions here, Sitting on the long benches, Are the long-bearded oaks, The boyars and the princes. “Oh Sovereign, do not be angry,”— No matter how wise you may be, With so many goats in office, What progress can there be?