... 

  Marko came to the house of his beloved, --
It was morning, one early morning --
He knocked quietly upon her little window.
The maiden came forth upon the threshold,
Saw her beloved, her so-long missed beloved,
Happily rejoicing, she sank upon his breast.

  "Beloved, fill a goblet of red wine for me, 
Hand it to me yourself,
So that I may drink once more from your hands,
Which have so often faithfully cared for me;
So that I may once more kiss your warm lips,
Which so often refreshed me sweetly."

  The maiden hastens to her father's cellar,
Quickly she brings a goblet of red wine,
Amiably, she passes it to her beloved.
Marko takes the full, foaming goblet,
Lifts it high: "Oh, noble drink of heroes!"
He winds his arms about the slender maiden,
Kisses her: "And oh sweet draught of love!"

  But suddenly, pale and aghast, the maiden 
Twists herself free from her beloved's arms.
Marko, Marko, tell me what has happened?
Your coat is moist with nighttime dew,
Your garments are wet with fresh blood,
Your bayonet, your hand are stained with blood,
And -- oh God -- from out of your wounded bosom
Warm blood wells! -- Did you struggle
With the shepherds over a horse in the forest?
Did you fight with robbers along the road?
Or did you, in the dark chasms 
Of the mountains, slay a wolf?

  Then with proud spirit, Marko responds:
"I struggled for a noble steed,
 ... 
Our free right is a noble steed!
 ... 

  Thus spake Marko. And he raises the goblet,
Drinks the full fire of the hero's drink:
"This, oh maiden, is my last drink!"
 ... 
"This, oh maiden, is our last kiss!
 ... 
Let a grave be dug for me beside Stavila,
Let them sing old songs of heroes
When soon they lower me into my grave!
Plant roses over my heart,
Grapevines in a circle round my burial mound,
And at my head an oak tree;
For as I -- in the arms of true love
With the goblet full of noble wine
For righteousness and for  holy and in the arms of true love --
Few men die such a blessed death!"

 ...