Page:Songs of Russia.djvu/44

 The awful wind, the storm with peril fraught,
 * Is wrestling with a ship upon the sea.

It would destroy her; she in sore distress
 * Cleaves the deep waters, groaning heavily.

The mast is cracking, quivering is the sail,
 * Frightful the water’s depths of roaring strife;

The wind contends and struggles with the ship
 * In fury, in a fight for death and life.

Now she is driven forward and now back,
 * Now she must stoop, now rise upon the main.

The ship is but a plaything of the waves
 * That swallow her, then spew her forth again.

The ocean roars, the billows lift themselves,
 * And awfully they thunder, lash and hiss.

The murderous storm seeks all things to destroy,
 * And opened are the jaws of the abyss.

Sighs, prayers are heard, for great the peril is,
 * And dreadful the distress. With suppliant breath