переделка песни Королевна Мельница на английском языке

I sang of gods and sang of heroes, of ringing blades and bloody battles,
When my falcon was with me, his scream replaced all of my prayers
A year ago a blizzard came and my falcon flew away from home.
My dear friend, my dear friend, kidnapped by this icy storm…
From that day I’ve become sad-eyed and seagulls cry in the boundless skies,
To notice my glance in the mist could only lychnis-coloured eyes.
Oh, if I could see with the falcon’s eyes and with the falcon’s wings I could fly…
In this unfamiliar falconry land, not in my dreams, but nearby…

Be my soul, the fastest bird; give me the chance to fly in the skies
Every night I see this flight in my dreams, the coolest fiords miles after miles…
With the white heather are the mountains embroidered, like your silky sleeves, dear queen,
I laugh again and happier than now I have actually never been.
I can’t remember what has happened not with you and not with me.
I rush about like a dead leaf; my soul can’t stay calm, dear queen.
You pay for the song with the moon, though with the chinking coin pay the others,
In that faraway land you are nicer than springs, you are nicer than springs, you are nicer than springs, and more heady than summers…
Wake up now, my little queen, put on your feathering, dear,
We’ll fly together in the foul, so thin is ice on your wrist,
With the silk your sleeves are embroidered, like the skies with the new moon here.
Oh, north wind, take me to the parts of the world, where sorrow and fable exist.

It’s so painful to know that all that happened not with me and not with you,
Your sadness is now your heart’s master, but about you, darling, I dreamt all nights long
Yes, time is immortal; it cannot simply stop and wait for you…
With ray of light I’ll leave your house, but before I sing my farewell song.

Dear queen, where do your dreams wander?
Will the old grass stay alive and see the spring?
Wake up, darling, put on your feathering, which is so tender,
Your worship hurts my heart, like an arrow over bowstring…
The others pay for the song with the chinking coin, but you do pay with the moon,
I’d give up everything just to be with you, but may be you are dead since this afternoon…
The others pay with the chinking coin for the song, for which they crave,
I’d give up everything just to be with you, but may be the flowers yet grow on your grave…