My war horse was fond of my singing
The free songs of yore:
But now he'll remain in the stable—
I shall ride him no more,
My Tartar girls, fair as the billows,
In the tents will remain;
They will find a new lord, and the steed
A new rider again!
But my mother, so old, when she loses
A rider so brave,
Will be true to the love that she bears me—
She will find a dark grave!