Deep in the steppe, sun-parched and soundless,

Beyond a chain of hills, the boundless

Realm of wild gales and windstorms, where

The aweless witch will scarcely dare

To walk with the approach of evening,

A vale lies hid that boasts two springs:

One leaps o'er stones and plays and sings,

For it is rich in water living,

The other o'er the valley bed

Flows sluggishly, its waters dead.

All's silence here, no breezes blowing

That coolness bring; no busy bird

To chatter or to sing is heard;

No age-old pines on sand dunes growing

Are seen to stir; no fawn,, no deer

Drinks of these waters. It is here

On guard two spirits have been standing

Since Time began, the fear commanding

Of all. Before them now the Finn

Appears, two jugs, both empty, bearing;

Their trance is broken, and from him

They flee, to other parts repairing.

He fills the vessels with the pure,

Sweet water 'fore him softly streaming,

And then is off, to vanish seeming

Into thin air. A second or

Two seconds pass, and in the vale

Where, motionless and deathly pale,

Ruslan lies, he now stands. First he

Dead water o'er the knight sprays, causing

The gaping wounds to heal and rosy

The grey lips turning suddenly;

With living water then he sprays