"The Tsar!" "The Pomyeshchick!" "The pope!" "The official!" Until the whole coppice Awakes in confusion; The birds and the insects, The swift-footed beasts And the low crawling reptiles Are chattering and buzzing And stirring all round. 160 The timid grey hare Springing out of the bushes Speeds startled away; The hoarse little jackdaw Flies off to the top Of a birch-tree, and raises A harsh, grating shriek, A most horrible clamour. A weak little peewit Falls headlong in terror 170 From out of its nest, And the mother comes flying In search of her fledgeling. She twitters in anguish. Alas! she can't find it. The crusty old cuckoo Awakes and bethinks him To call to a neighbour: Ten times he commences And gets out of tune, 180 But he won't give it up.... Call, call, little cuckoo, For all the young cornfields Will shoot into ear soon, And then it will choke you-- The ripe golden grain, And your day will be ended![4] From out the dark forest Fly seven brown owls, And on seven tall pine-trees 190 They settle themselves To enjoy the disturbance. They laugh--birds of night-- And their huge yellow eyes gleam Like fourteen wax candles. The raven--the wise one-- Sits perched on a tree In the light of the fire, Praying hard to the devil That one of the wranglers, 200 At least, should be beaten To death in the tumult. A cow with a bell Which had strayed from its fellows The evening before, Upon hearing men's voices Comes out of the forest And into the firelight, And fixing its eyes, Large and sad, on the peasants, 210 Stands listening in silence Some time to their raving, And then begins mooing, Most heartily moos. The silly cow moos, The jackdaw is screeching, The turbulent peasants Still shout, and the echo Maliciously mocks them-- The impudent echo 220 Who cares but for mocking And teasing good people, For scaring old women And innocent children: Though no man has seen it We've all of us heard it; It lives--without body; It speaks--without tongue. The pretty white owl Called the Duchess of Moscow 230 Comes plunging about In the midst of the peasants, Now circling above them, Now striking the bushes And earth with her body. And even the fox, too, The cunning old creature, With woman's determined And deep curiosity, Creeps to the firelight 240 And stealthily listens; At last, quite bewildered, She goes; she is thinking, "The devil himself Would be puzzled, I know!" And really the wranglers Themselves have forgotten The cause of the strife.