>>2250619I found a translation of it:
"Say, the pretty lyre of mine,
Here is my cheek- pride divine,
What can ever topple beauty,
Of a man, knight on his duty.
What over lands in the distance,
Where, melting the ice's resistance,
Fields of no one's eyes or none's talk,
Enrobed by young grass's green stalk.
Hussar in an armor heavy,
Stays on guard, for attack ready.
Who, after a wealthy dinner
Sleeps, makes enemies the winner.
Under mistyfing banner,
With a tube's loud, tremmbling manner,
Runs, bent over, forest's beauty
For fame, money, not for duty."
It was a pretty popular song among hussars
