Оборотень [Oboroten'] [English translation]

Every evening

I start to hate this princely mansion,

And the grief, which is worse than a Polovtsian,1

Paces across the dirty floor.

The burning smoke from a smoldered flag

Swirls above the aspen.

I drown my wild yearning

In foamy braga2

The underripe moon grins

In the window from under the eaves;

It seems like I hear:

Drink, dear, drain to the dregs!...

Drink, maybe something can be made from you,

Maybe you will find your fortune

Who was a wolfling will become a wolf

Wind, blood and silver.

It is just turned out like this- don't cross yourself-

You are going to forge your clutches with gold

Who was a kitten will become a lynx

A honey tongue, a heart of gall!

Don't visit me, my desired one,

Don't try to divert my grief

It fooled me in the drunk night

I won't return before the dawn.

Oh, I wake up, come out, shut the door-

The village is silent-

The stars fall down feathers-like

On the footprints of the sharp-clawed paws.

A sweet smell of the darkness,

A bitter font in the forest,

You was called a little bear

You grew up a fierce beast.

Drink, maybe something can be made from you,

Maybe you will find your fortune

Who was a wolfling will become a wolf

Wind, blood and silver...

1. a synonym for a barbarian2. home-made beer