Along the cliff top, above the abyss and right up to the brink I drive my horses ever forwards, under the lash, under the whip; Somehow the air seems strangely lacking - mist I swallow, wind I drink. And I sense with mortal frenzy: "This will be it, this will be it!" A little slower, my horses, a little slower, I pray! Donít you let the lash drive you along. But somehow Iíve got hold of horses that wonít do anything I say, And my life will be gone, and I wonít finish my song. Iíll slake my horsesí thirst, Iíll sing one final verse, Even just for a while I shall stop by the drop! I shall vanish like a feather that the storm blows from a palm And come morn the sledge will speed me through the snow at running pace. Slow your stride down from a gallop, whoa my horses, now be calm; Just for a while eke out the journey to the final resting place! A little slower, my horses, a little slower, I pray! Donít you let the lash and whip be your boss! But somehow Iíve got hold of horses that wonít do anything I say, And my life will be gone, and I wonít finish my song. Iíll slake my horsesí thirst, Iíll sing one final verse, Even just for a while I shall stop by the drop! So we made it - you canít arrive late when youíve a date with God to keep. But why are angels singing there in tones that sound so cruel and harsh? Or is the sleigh bell ringing as it cracks and starts to weep Or am I shouting at the horses not to pull the sledge so fast? A little slower, my horses, a little slower, I pray! I beg you, donít you break into a run! But somehow Iíve got hold of horses that wonít do anything I say, Though my life will be gone, at least Iíll finish my song. Iíll slake my horsesí thirst, Iíll sing one final verse, Even just for a while I shall stop by the drop!
© Margaret & Stas Porokhnya. Translation, 2007