I am dreaming of the mountains of my home
Of the mountains where in childhood I would roam
I have dwelt 'neath southern skies
Where the summer never dies
But my heart is in the mountains of my home
I can see the little homestead on the hill
I can hear the charming music of the river
There is nothing to compare
With the love that once was there
In that lonely little homestead on the hill
I can see the quiet churchyard down below
Where the mountain breezes wander to and fro
And when God my soul will keep
It is there I want to sleep
With those dear old folks that loved me long ago
Русский перевод (thanks to Zarina Kozlov)
Часто снятся мне те горы, где мой дом,
Где я в детстве с каждым был знаком холмом.
Жил под южным небом я
В лета вечного краях,
Только сердце в тех горах и в доме том
Вижу сердцем милый домик на холме,
И мелодия реки звучит во мне
Не сравнится ничего
с нежностью, теплом его
Того маленького дома на холме
В тихий двор церковный веет ветер с гор...
Когда душу призовет к Себе мой Бог
Я б хотел покой найти ,
Где родные старики
Кто любил меня еще с тех давних пор
I Am Dreaming Of The Mountains of My Home
Of the Mountains Where in Childhood I Would Roam
I Have Dwelt 'Neath Southern Skies
WHERE THE SUMMER NEVER DIES
But My Heart Is In The Mountains of My Home
I CAN See The Little Homestead On The Hill
I CAN Hear The Charming Music of the River
THERE IS NOTHING TO COMPARE
With The Love That Once Was There
In That Lonely Little Homestead On The Hill
I CAN SEE THE QUIET Churchyard Down Below
WHERE THE MOUNTAIN BREEZES WANDER TO AND FRO
AND WHEN GOD My Soul Will Keep
IT IS There I Want To Sleep
WITH THOSE DEAR OLD FOLKS THAT LOVED ME LONG AGO
Russian translation (Thanks to Zarina Kozlov)
Often dreams of me those mountains where my house,
Where in my childhood with each was a sign hill.
Lived under the southern sky I
In the summer of eternal edges,
Only the heart in the mountains and in the house
I see a heart cute house on the hill,
And the river melody sounds in me
Not comparing nothing
with tenderness, warm
Of that small house on the hill
In the quiet yard church blows the wind from the mountains ...
When the soul calls my God
I would like to find peace
Where native old people
Who loved me since more long ago