Steppe, endless steppe,
The way lies far before us,
And in that dense steppe

A coachman lay dying.

He summoned up all his strength,

As he felt death approaching,
And he gave an order
To his comrade:


"my dear friend,
Do not think of the bad times,

But bury me here
In this dense steppe.


Give to my wife
A word of farewell;
And give back to her

This wedding ring.

And tell her that i died here,

In the freezing steppe,
And that i have taken her love
Away with me."