The Old Song Of Russian Tramp by Victor Guseff

Across the wild steppes of Transbaikalia,

Where they do dig gold in the mountains,

One tramp, cursing his fate weird, alas,

Dragged himself with a bag on his shoulders.

He walks through the dense taiga rim,

Where only birds sing,  very svift.

A cauldron on his side disturbs him,

Dry leathers beat his bare  feet.

He is wearing a thin shirt shabby

With many different patches,

A prisoner's cap looks seedy,

And a gray prison robe in strippes.

He escaped from prison a dark night,

In prison he suffered for the truth -

He can't go any further, no why -

Before him stretched Baikal lough.

The tramp approaches sacred Baikal,

As thief takes a fishing free boat bent.

And starts a sad song -wolf howl,

Sings something about his homeland.

- I left my young wife long time ago,

I left my little children out  my sight.

Now hesitating at random, i permanently go.

God knows, if I'll see her again might.

The tramp crossed Baikal, quickly rather.

His dear mother is coming towards him.

• Oh, hello, oh, hello, my own mother!

I want to know, if my father is well kin?

• Your father has long been in the grave area

Buried in damp earth, enough fine.

And your brother now habitats in Siberia,

He has been rattling in shackles for a long time.

• Let's go, let's go, dear my son, my bend!

Let's go to our native hut house:

Your  wife there misses her husband,

And the children are crying in a crowd.