At twelve o'clock at night
The drummer arises from the grave;
and he walks backwards and forward,
and he beats the alarm quickly.
And in the dark graves the drum
wakes the powerful infantry;
there arise the fine riflemen,
there arise the old grenadiers,
they arise from under the Russian snows,
from the rich fields of Italy
They arise from the African steppe,
from the burning sands of Palestine.

At twelve o'clock at night
The trumpeter comes out from the grave;
and he skips backwards and forward,
and he loudly blows the alarm.
And in the dark graves the trumpet
wakes the powerful cavalry:
the grey hussars arise,
awaken the strong artillery,
and from the north, from the south they fly,
from the east and from the West they rush
on the light, airy horses
One after other the squadrons.

At twelve o'clock at night
The general arises from the grave;
he wears the uniform frock-coat;
with the small hat and the sword;
on his old combat horse
he slowly walks on the front;
and the marshals walk after him,
and the adjutants walk after him;
and army salutes in his honor.
He stops before it;
and with the music following him
pass regiment after regiment
At twelve o'clock at night.

The marshals of all assembles,
and to the nearest, in his ear,
He whispers his password and slogan;
and to the entire army
they return that password and that slogan:
and "France" - that is the password,
the slogan - "Sainte Helena",
at twelve o'clock at night
Rising from the dark coffin,
as his old soldiers,
The defunct Caesar appears
At twelve o'clock at night.