Королевская охота

When it gets a little warmer
Sky Nordic countries on the threshold of spring,
And the night being driven black horses
To the east of the sun and west of the moon ...

When the rivers sigh captive banks,
And the sky is broken on the rocks of thresholds
And dark curls wooded hills
Hover over the endless road -

My brother, the west wind , the king of clouds,
Honey smells thy dewy clover meadows,
But restless hungry eyes of the gods
Green trouble and anxiety ...

This morning wake up the sand near the water
Easy step temnogrivyh gray horses ;
Oh, those are quick dogs , who on the chest -
Crescent , as a sign of purity of blood .

And spreading oak, yew and Shadow
Bowed his head before the royal hunting
Ovevaemy colorful wings of birds
In this jump on the verge of flight;

But look - the trees patterned helmets
And merge heather hard walls,
And the horses snorted , sensing betrayal ,
Or just the smell of the swamp ? ..

And here we have lived as long as they could;
Have not forgotten the children of the old land :
Oh, how you tray , kings,
Virgin our hills cups honey !

But you know , because the hounds took my trail
Your gray hounds took my trail
Royal hounds took my trail
And do not know me no sleep, no rest;

And while under the hoofs of the gray horses
Do not fall apart into fragments of the world days
Until the end , followed by a pack of marsh fires
You're going to chase me;

Oh , your hounds took my trail
Dark-eyed hounds took my trail
Royal hounds took my trail
And do not know me no sleep, no rest ...

Your hounds took my trail ...