Before me the land is so wide,
it has no beginning or end.
I walk and I walk until I
tumble off of the edge

You tread and you tread and tread on
in the gloom of the trees.
A rambler has always to trudge on
so long as they’re able to see.

A blind man’s foot too finds the road
here deep in the scented wood.
No one but no one knows
if we’ll ever get through it.

Jakop wanted to have a sleep,
laid his head down on a stone.
What dreams did he have there?
Ladders to heaven,
the gates of paradise.

Mary, Mary, mother dear,
where is your beautiful son?
Under the hill of Jerusalem,
under the hill of Jerusalem.

Greetings, son, you poor child,
what are you doing here?
All the world’s weeping, worrying,
weeping and worrying,
weeping and worrying.

Let them weep and worry.
Why are they swearing so strongly,
why sinning ever so much,
with head so swelled up,
eyes so perfectly still,
Jesus’ feet so full of nails.

She rises early
when the clouds haven’t yet
taken shape.
As every morning
so too today.

A Livonian woman
a wish on her cracked lips.

And then she sings about home
about longing
she hasn’t forgotten
the springs of home she hasn’t forgotten
hope.

Tšitšo-birds, tšitšo-birds,
now it’s time to rise up.
Meaty plaice into our seas,
leaner plaice into other seas.
Gentle creatures to our forests,
wolves and bears to other forests.
Gentle boys to our village,
bad boys to another village.

I went from my gate to wander,
sadulmoi sadu zelennoi sadu
from my father’s new room,
from my brother’s high home,
I walked on right through the village,
walked on through the six new cities,
hit my foot against a stone,
my toe against a maple tree,
sat down on the ground to cry,
Mother came to plead with me,
I didn’t answer Mother’s pleadings,
Father came to take me with him,
I didn’t answer Father’s calling,
young man came to take me with him,
Put a pair of horses in front,
mother mare right at the front,
the foal he fixed behind her.
Sat down in my young man’s sledge,
I tied silk before my eyes,
covered up my feet with carpets,
the horse ran on, we journeyed on,
the sledge swept on, the road grew shorter.

Ää-ääh, tsuu-tsuu,
ää-ääh, tsuu-tsuu,
tsuu’ks no tsuu, tsuu tsuu,
tsuu’ks no tsuu, tsuu tsuu!
Tsuu’ks no tsuu little boy
slumber o slumber my berry
drowse o drowse my little dove.

But what good does sleeping do us?
Slumber won’t give us a new coat,
sleep a shirt down to the ground.
Slumber sends us out to wander,
sleep sends us to march about.

the sea murmurs within you
always ever and again

this murmuring is within you
so deep and without end

as the setting of the bright sun
it is brought to mind

its high foam-crested waves
are written in your heart

your sea it is unbounded
it murmurs without end

Chirp-chirrup little skylark
where’s your nest my golden one?
In the thicket on a twig
or a birch’s bending branch?
I’ve no nest where I can dry off
nor a house where I can dry out.
My house is below the heavens,
my home is upon a pine.

Oh, they are saying that war is coming,
oh, that the Russian forces are rolling.

Oh, where will we flee to, my ducklings,
oh, where will we fly to my fledgelings?
oh, flee beside a speckled stone,
oh, in the light shelter of limestone.

Oh, why did the little bird come to chirp,
oh, why did the skylark come to snap,
“oh, but there’s a young maiden here,
oh, but a grownup girl is here!”

Oh, taken to knead the bread of war,
oh, and to make the loaves of malice.
Oh, the cart of war is covered in tar,
oh the standard of war is covered in sand.

Go, go, my dear swing,
ätee kaike
go, swing, upon the grass.
Who has made the swing here?
Good brother villager,
made the swing upon the grass,
made it at the water’s edge,
up upon the high hill.

Go, go, my dear swing,
go, swing, ever higher,
so I am seen across the land,
my head is seen above the forest,
my legs below the thinning forest
my body amid the twisting forest,
my eyes above the blue forest!

Let’s go home, my golden one, kas’ ke-kan’ke,
berry of my very own house,
fledgeling of my very own town,
dove of my very own dwelling.
Our home is made of gold
the town of linen overlays,
the set of stairs of grouse eggs,
the beams begot of duck eggs.
Dawn is laid out from the window,
The Moon is laid out from the chimney,
Day laid out upon the floor.

My brothers dear, my brothers dear, young ones,
father’s sisters, father’s sisters dear, little birds,
when we go and when we go along this road,
when we go and when we go a little way,
we leave the forest behind us singing, singing,
we leave the woods behind us watching, watching,
Why are the lands lamenting so,
why are the woods sorrowing so?
It is not them, not them that give the road beauty,
it is not them that sing the land’s joy.
My brothers dear, my brothers dear, young ones,
my aunties dear, my aunties dear, little birds,
we make the beauty of the road,
we think out the joy of the land,
We leave the woods behind us singing,
leave the land behind us watching.