The clouds scurry, the clouds whirl,
Unseen the moon
Lights up the flying snow,
The sky is gloomy, the night is gloomy
I drive, I drive in the open plain,
The little bell ding-ding-ding
It is fearsome, fearsome in spite of one's self,
Amid the unknown plains!
- "Hey, go on, driver!"..."There's no possibility:
For the horses, sir, it is heavy";
The snow storm shuts my eyes
All the roads are blocked, -
Though (you) kill me, a track is not to be seen,
We are lost. What are we to do!
In the plain a demon leads us, seemingly,
And turns aside.
"Look: there, there he plays,
He blows, he spits on me;
Here - now into a ravine he pushes
The shying horse;
There like a wierd verst-post
He stood up in front of me;
There he flashed like a little spark
And disappeared in the empty darkness."
The clouds scurry, the clouds whirl,
Unseen the moon
Lights up the flying snow,
The sky is gloomy, the night is gloomy
We have no strength to circle further;
The little bell suddenly became silent,
The horses stopped... - What is there in the plain?
"Who knows them: a tree stump or a wolf?"
The snowstorm becomes furious, the snowstorm wails;
The quick-witted horses snort;
There again further on he jumps,
Only his eyes burn in the darkness!
The horses started off again
The little bell ding-ding-ding...
I see: the phantoms assembled
In the midst of the whitening plains.
Endless, formless,
In the dim play of the moonlight
Whirled the manifold demons,
Like the leaves in November...
How many of them! Where are they driven to?
Why do they sing so plaintively?
Are they burying the hobgoblin?
Are they giving the witch in marriage?
The clouds scurry, the clouds whirl,
Unseen the moon
Lights up the flying snow,
The sky is gloomy, the night is gloomy
The demons run swarm after swarm
In the boundless height,
With plaintive wail and moan
Rending my heart...
Alexander Pushkin (1799-1837)