The cart-wheels are screeching, And like slaughtered calves' heads Are nodding and wagging The pates limp and helpless Of peasants asleep. They're dropping on all sides, As if from some ambush An enemy firing Is shooting them wholesale. 30 The quiet night is falling, The moon is in Heaven, And God is commencing To write His great letter Of gold on blue velvet; Mysterious message, Which neither the wise man Nor foolish can read. The high-road is humming Just like a great bee-hive; 40 The people's loud clamour Is swelling and falling Like waves in the ocean. "We paid him a rouble-- The clerk, and he gave us A written petition To send to the Governor." "Hi, you with the waggon, Look after your corn!" "But where are you off to, 50 Olyenushka? Wait now-- I've still got some cakes. You're like a black flea, girl, You eat all you want to And hop away quickly Before one can stroke you!" "It's all very fine talk, This Tsar's precious Charter, It's not writ for us!" "Give way there, you people!" 60 The exciseman dashes Amongst them, his brass plate Attached to his coat-front, And bells all a-jangle. "God save us, Parasha, Don't go to St. Petersburg! _I_ know the gentry: By day you're a maid, And by night you're a mistress. You spit at it, love...." 70 "Now, where are you running?" The pope bellows loudly To busy Pavloosha, The village policeman. "An accident's happened Down here, and a man's killed." "God pardon our sins!" "How thin you've got, Dashka!" "The spinning-wheel fattens By turning forever; 80 I work just as hard, But I never get fatter." "Heh, you, silly fellow, Come hither and love me! The dirty, dishevelled, And tipsy old woman. The f--i--ilthy o--l--d woman!" Our peasants, observing, Are still walking onwards. They see just before them 90 A meek little fellow Most busily digging A hole in the road. "Now, what are you doing?" "A grave I am digging To bury my mother!" "You fool!--Where's your mother? Your new coat you've buried! Roll into the ditch, Dip your snout in the water. 100 'Twill cool you, perhaps." "Let's see who'll pull hardest!" Two peasants are squatting, And, feet to feet pressing, Are straining and groaning, And tugging away At a stick held between them. This soon fails to please them: "Let's try with our beards!" And each man then clutches 110 The jaw of the other, And tugs at his beard! Red, panting, and writhing, And gasping and yelping, But pulling and pulling! "Enough there, you madmen!"... Cold water won't part them!