Over a chasm, down by a precipice, on verge of a disaster, I am urging on my horses, whipping them to go faster... Lack of air I am feeling - drinking wind I try to master, And perceive - Iím being perished, - with delight of ruinous gusto. Yet be slower, my horses, youíd be slower a little bit! No need to obey stingy lash! But my horses are too squeamish, - nothing can be done with it - Couldnít live to the end of wishes, can I make the end of splash? I will water my bays; I will finish my plays - Let me stand for awhile at the bays of my days... Iíll be gone the way a leaflet is swept down by gusty winding, And by sleigh one early morning Iíll be drawn to destination, Still slow down your pace, my horses, - Iím to have some time for bidding, - For a little while prolong it - the way to the final allocation. Go slower, my horses; youíd be slower a little bit! Do not follow the orders of lash! But my horses are so fussy, - canít do anything with it - Wasnít in good with life completing, - will be able to make a splash? I will water my bays; I will finish my plays - Let me stand for awhile at the bays of my days... Weíre in time, for none has ever been too late to the Godís camper, Hear the angels - they are singing, but the voices are not beamish, Or itís only just a hand bell has been flying into temper, Or itís me - address the horses to moderate their pace to the finish. Go slower, my horses; youíd be slower a little bit! Your full gallop is going wrong! But my horses are so fussy, - canít do anything with it - Have't been able to keep on life, can be able to finish the song? I will water my bays; I will finish my plays - Let me stand for awhile at the bays of my days...
© Vyacheslav Chistyakov. Translation, 2011