Goblins Of The Steppes
Stormy clouds delirious straying,
Showers of whirling snowflakes white,
And the pallid moonbeams waning--
Sad the heavens, sad the night!
Further speeds the sledge, and further,
Loud the sleighbell's melody,
Grewsome, frightful 'tis becoming,
'Mid these snow fields now to be!
Hasten! 'That is useless, Master,
Heavier for my team their load,
And my eyes with snow o'er plastered
Can no longer see the road!
Lost all trace of our direction,
Sir, what now? The goblins draw
Us already round in circles,
Pull the sledge with evil claw!
See! One hops with frantic gesture,
In my face to grin and hiss,
See! It goads the frenzied horses
Onward to the black abyss!
In the darkness, like a paling
One stands forth,--and now I see
Him like walking-fire sparkling--
Then the blackness,--woe is me!'
Stormy clouds delirious straying,
Showers of snowflakes whirling white,
And the pallid moonbeams waning--
Sad the heavens, sad the night!
Sudden halt the weary horses,
Silent too the sleighbells whirr--
Look! What crouches on the ground there?
'Wolf,--or shrub,--I know not, Sir.'
How the wind's brood rage and whimper!
Scenting, blow the triple team;
See! One hops here! Forward Driver!
How his eyes with evil gleam!
Scarce controllable the horses,
How the harness bells resound!
Look! With what a sneering grimace
Now the spirit band surround!
In an endless long procession,
Formless, countless of their kind
Circle us in flying coveys
Like the leaves in Autumn wind.
Now in ghastly silence deathly,
[...] Read more
poem by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
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