On the sea, on the ocean, on the island, on Bujan,
On the empty pasture gleams the moon, on an ashstock lying
In a green wood, in a gloomy vale.
Toward the stock wandereth a shaggy wolf.
Horned cattle seeking for his sharp white fangs;
But the wolf enters not the forest,
But the wolf dives not into the shadowy vale,
Moon, Moon, gold-horned moon,
Check the flight of bullets, blunt hunter’s knives,
Break the shepherd’s cudgels.
Cast wild fear upon all cattle,
Oh men, on all creepings things,
That they may not catch the grey wolf,
That they may not rend his warm skin!
My word is binding, more binding than sleep,
More binding than the promise of a hero!
Spirit of the Wolf,
You who wanders the wild lands,
You who stalks in silent shadows,
You who runs and leaps
between the moss-covered trees,
lend me your primal strength,
and the wisdom of your glowing eyes.
Teach me to relentlessly track my desires.
And to stand in defense of those I love.
Show me the hidden paths and the moonlit fields.
Walk with me in my solitude
Howl with me in my joy
Guard me as I move through this world.