Mushatin

 

by Mihai Eminescu

 

the wood is white its leaf is black

its thousand little twigs

by snow are heavy

only the wind passes through them

the cold wind and some magpie

sheding let them off

white is the night the one with moon

from the distance wood resounds

the wolves in troops mass together

blows the wind blows incessantly

grove and heaven make to me pair

mad grief comes over one

as long and stretched grief

as the county all under snow

the wood shiver like an aspen leaf

as large as one’s horizon

the wolvws over peakes race

wandering through snows

troops the crows fly

 

in the ground of dense woods

there is no path to get out

there’s no way there’s no boundary

neither hunter’s trace

making blizzard on snow drifts

they filled up the glades

let down on dry boughs

over shed leaves

over water over all things

in the impenetrable forest

a little house is hidden

there’s no village nor nearby road

quite alone one doesn’t know how

only from its chimney the smoke juts out

who would stay in the house

that doesnţt care for the snow

which falls and will fall

ever heap on heap

surpassing the fence in the yard

up to eaves it will reach

if left is long winter

zoung little widow

stays there quite alone

how many days are left

she doesn’t go to village any more

how long the time of a winter

how the snow is all falling

she ever winds and weaves

white threads exquisite linens

while the fire burns in the hearth

the wolves howl the gogs bark

and she spins from tow

swinging on a leg

the trough with a little child

asleep and graceful

and as she sings as she sighs

the voice of wood imitates her

 

in the ground of the wood

there’s no path thewre’s no way

that if ever a path existed

it turned into a valley

that if a way ever existed

it is with leaves burried

it is filled with thorns and thistle

that one doesn’t find its trace

if there is path somewhere

nobody knows it anymore

that they lost its traces

shepherd boys with the flocks

and they lost their signs

woodmen with the logs

and they forgotten the folds

hunters with the bows

nobody in the world knows any more

that around only desert

whici its borders are

where are its springs

the grass grows behold again

beaten by the summer wind

where the forest is rare

but in the beautiful grass

never a scythe entered

where the forest is dense

by its thick of wood

no axe did touch

in the ground of wood

path isn’t way isn’t

but a glade of fir trees

and a cheerful eye of pond

and a garden with stile

and a little house with trouble

and at the door of house grows

the old tile tree which shadows it

like a living covering

its flower falls without wind

shaken over the land

and on the porch who is seen

who nwaer craddle is staying

young little widow woman

who knew about herself only she

and as the wood bestirs itself

she sings for her she charms her away

swinging with a leg

she says gently

lullaby lullaby little child

I’d tell you atale

lullaby lullaby between us

I’l tell you a tale

and in models I’ll dress it

and beautifully I’ll untie it

zou to understand it only I pause

towards others I say nothing

the tears a valley fall from me

my father was a shephard

as many seconds are in year

as many shepherds he was having

with thousands flocks beside

flocks in thousands of little she lambs

little shepherds after them

haughty flocks also of sheeps

the little shepherds backwards

with flutes and bagpipes

he had also if you understand me

herds of untamed horses

which like hurricanes

were filling his plains

were grazing his estates

and in the length of rivers

they settled themselves on deserts

and in the waves of grass

were grazing the hinds and the stags

and through mountains lost in clouds

he had big herds of bisons

cold rivers cold springs

in the shadow were flowing eternally

and he had mountains and he had forests

and fortresses with fortifications

and had villages thousands and thousands

strewn on the plains

and had villages big and small ones

and full with brave men

what an uproar what a struggling

when cheerfully sounding from horn

was calling the country to boundaries

that were running with little and grown up

that they were flowing like rivers

and blackened the deserts

bitter me into a sigh

the tears are valley coming to me

with the kerchief if I whipe them

they still stronger go on

and how beautiful I was

how no one was kin by kin

of gold were my plaits

and by girls they were plaited

rosy like a peony

I was dear to everybody

they came behold they came

emperors from the east

to ask me in marriage

but they went as they arrived

kings came and messengers came

learned in many schools

with reasonable words

they asked me with justice

good time old shepherd

our emperor master

did send us to ask

if you marry your daughter or not

he answers then honestly

dear brave men welcome to you

dear’s to me to feast you

with you to get delighted

but any much you did ask me

daughter I haven’t to marry

but he emperor from the west

did come and didn’t go

two words only he told me

my heart he did subdue

he was stately and armed

an enarmoured soldier

he was stately and hale

having care of nothing

he was tall and I was tall

nice looking we were together

fitted in excess

I beautiful he beautiful

bitter me in a sigh

the tears valley come to me

with the kerchief if I whipe them

they still stronger go on

they heard and if they heard

match makers from the east

that I was going to marry

and when I just gor married

many people aroused

our house only to spoil

and to separate us

thousand of tongues were flowing as rivers

risen from the deserts

and they came mobs

risen from the forests

some on horseback some on walk

ever came in thick cloud

they came swarms came flock

and left the desert after them

they came flocks came valley

and crumbled forts in their way

vainly my man faced them

they pushed him only back

they defeated his armies

they ravished his glories

they desered the countries

they brought his fortunes

they balckened his sun

they enslaved his people

I in the deserted wood

wandering lately

I heard from foreign tongues

that my man isn’t coming any more

I learned from the west

that my man went away

by all humans followed

I learned from the east

that my man has died

that has died and was mourned

world entire was wailing him

did wail all hermitages

all orients

and wests all

and peoples tongues and crowds

midnight midday

they couldn’t awake him any more

weild behold those kings

the emperors of whole world

and a storm started

which earth drowned

midnight and westward

thousand kins put to way

big flocks and predatory

of alien peoples

which were fowing behold flowing

end they didn’t have any more

just for putting inheritence

over poor mankind

when I think to such sorrows

it seems to me they were yeasterday

when I think to my shepherds

it seems to me they were thousands years

bur when I learned

that my man has died

this linden tree I planted

grows the tile and flourishes

and shadows my life

and as in its shadow I live

I don’t get old any more

dear mother’s little child

many in world I’d tell you

but I am afraid you’d leave me

bur I am afraid you’ll understand me

and you’ll grow and will start

how the wood don’t comprise you

and you’ll go into the wide world

but you sleep more behold a bit

that you’re tender of years and little

sleep at shadow sleep on peace

that your mother will make you

under that tile tree beaten by wind

the bedding at land

when the sun will set

then the wind will drow off

and you’ll get asleep

the teeny branches will beat

and if stars will penetrate

and the moon will penetrate

our solitude

and when the wind will blow

the tile tree will rock

its flowers it will shed

and again will awake you

in the ground of the great night

and at rustling of oak trees

under the circling of clouds

in the falling of flowers

under the shining of stars

and at dance of wicked fairies

under the leaf of oak trees

at the voice of springs

where is it the cross from ways

you don’t cry more me

they grow like brothers two spruce firs

do laugh chick-abiddy laugh

where there are birds in the trees

be quiet chick be quiet

they gather girls and lads

do sleep chick heigh

stags gather the soft ones

awake chick do awake

and as she sings and sighs

the voice of wood imitates her

 

poor country of the high

all zour fame has gone

now five hundreds years ago

only wood you were to me

around were growing deserts

empires were crumbling

the peoples were getting old

kingdoms were fading

and forts were scatterng

only your woods were growing

green is the unpenetrated shadow

where a world is hidden

and in the shadow for ever

cold rivers were flowing

tenderly clear turning

having voices of springs

Bistritsa in rocks struggles

hrough dark forests

and ever goes deeper

where the water slightly twinkle

and at once it sees that

its watwrs hitches

and by roxks it is dammed up

it gathers and ever grows

it dam up in wondrous lake

of which waters are quiet

and trees make shadow to it

dense leaf over

in depth the water watches

and the oak trees from bank to bank

over it fall down

peaks prop up together

and make to me a tall vault

by the peaks they are knitted

and in shadow they rule

and in eternal freshness

the waves are sparkling

from one bank to another

it fell a tall trunk

it fell crosswise

that its foliage is hanging

long bridge of a tree

over a silence of lake

long bridge big bridge

that one can pass it on horse back

and Mushatin youngish

passes the bridge quiet alone

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