Patriotyczne - Marsz Żuawów

Zouaves's March

There's nowhere such warriors, like beyond our symbol,
Fezzes on the outs, mustache up -
Laugh - and flask's twang on a camping,
We're heading marching, almost, like dancing.
But, when the battle starts, it's for real,
Our mark and rifle we're picking up,
And Pole, while fighting, if he is stubborn,
He'll stand, as one, like an old soldier.

March, march, Zouaves,
On fight, on bloody one,
Saint, and fair one -
March, Zouaves, march!

Remembers Moscow, what Zouave means,
Dogface shivers, while he's remembering his Name;
Because he pierced lots of tsar's butchers
Our brother, French Zouave in Crimea.
Battles of Miechów, Sosnówka, Chrobrz and Grochowiska,
Chattering teeth, tsar's rogue will mention -
With blood, few men reached the Name of the Brave,
Few men were fighting, like the old warriors.

March, march, Zouaves,
On fight, on bloody one,
Saint, and fair one -
March, Zouaves, march!

While we spread out, making line formations,
To crawl with weapon, funny, like moles;
But better fire is massive, while honest
Better is order: strike with bayonets!
Because bayonet itself, it grows in my hand,
As fervor increases in a brave attack,
Hooray and hooray! Shouts so joyful
Up the white cross on a black sign!

March, march, Zouaves,
On fight, on bloody one,
Saint, and fair one -
March, Zouaves, march!

In snow and mud, wet are our sleepovers,
Though we fall asleep with the whisper of pines.
In fire, companies collapse so fast,
Although it can unite soon.
And brothers, that fell on field of Honour,
We tell: You will see us soon!
First, for one of You, whole platoon
Of rogues, will give us their miserable lives.

March, march, Zouaves,
On fight, on bloody one,
Saint, and fair one -
March, Zouaves, march!

After battle, we'll have a rest, in a village, or town,
Oh, it's so sweet gratitude for us,
When girl's eye will look tenderly,
Ruddy face will look out the window!
Because Polish women's heart, because their beauty,
Zouave honours dearly, like a rightful soldier
And just for that one award,
He should be first one in battle turmoil.

March, march, Zouaves,
On fight, on bloody one,
Saint, and fair one -
March, Zouaves, march!

We don't like arguing about trivial issues,
But poor are tsar's decrees for us,
Some concessions, some amnesties,
We have one answer: strike with bayonets!
To make this answer forcible,
Expressed soundly and accurately,
Let Zouaves cut it as the very first!
Our bayonets can write so clearly.

March, march, Zouaves,
On fight, on bloody one,
Saint, and fair one -
March, Zouaves, march!

Sun shines bright, or from behind the cloud
Volatile is tide of unequal war;
Zouave is always able to buck up,
With arms by his side, always stays calm.
If we could, with our bare hands,
Resist the wild horde of soldiers,
While armed, we'll banish them from Polish land!
Don't join Zouaves, if You don't believe it.

March, march, Zouaves,
On fight, on bloody one,
Saint, and fair one -
March, Zouaves, march!