Biting frost is crackling,
It\'s dark outside;
Silvery hoarfrost
Has covered the window.
It\'s heavy and dreary,
Silence in the hut;
Only the wind howls
Piteously in the chimney.
And the splinter of wood burns,
Emitting a crackling sound,
Casting its slim gleam down
On the bunks and walls.
A curly-haired laddie
Is dozing by the stove,
Leaning above the wall,
In an old sheepskin coat.
The pale wick light there
Feebly illuminates
The child\'s blond head
And the blush on his cheeks.
The shadow of his small head
Lies on the sharp wall;
On the bench, by the spinning wheel,
His poor mother sits.
It was not for nothing,
that she had a terrible dream:
Her whole soul was aching
Since early that morn.
The fifth week eternally .
Is coming to an end,
Her husband’s sunk like a stone,
And he sends no news.
\"Oh, Lord please have mercy,
If some misfortune mine
Has befallen my husband
On the lonely road!...
My lot is a woman\'s lot,
I\'ve been ill my whole life,
What will I do since now
All alone, forlorn? To cry!
My son is still a child,
When will he grow up?
Poor my boy’s still waiting
A present from his father for.
And the sorrowful mother
Looks at her only son.
\"You should lie down, darling,
Stop you dozing right!”
\"But why, my dear Mama,
Don\'t you sleep yourself,
you’re spinning evening,
And you are still sitting ?\"
\"Oh, my dearest, sonnie
I don\'t have the strength
To spin: I am so sad,
The world seems hateful.
\"Stop crying so Mama!\"
The boy said to her
And leaned his blonde head
Against his mother\'s shoulder.
\"I won\'t cry no a drop of tear,
Lie down to sleep, my dear; \"
I will bring you a bundle
Of thin yellow straw,
I will make your bed,
And may our God willing,
Your father will soon
Bring you a present;
He will make new sleds
Better that you have
And will ride his little son
Around the yard in them...\"
And the child fell asleep.
The night is long, so long...
The sound of the spinning wheel
Resounds evenly drearily…