A horned jaeger governs the gamekeeper's lodge in the uplands In a green uniform, his horns hidden by the hat
With unearthly forces he operates and the godfearing villagers from the downlands shun away from him
Strange visitors come to him at nights
Fiacres with dandified noblemen who vanish before the dawn
Eerie lights flash over the grove during that time and mephistophelean squalls are to be heard
Otherwile, harlots frolic at his place and indulge in debauchery with dragoons
Orchestrating festivities and card-player carousals where cognac and kontušovka flows
A hotbed of occult operations and blasphemies is the isolated gamekeeper's lodge
Keep away from these places, simpleton
When infernal intelligences are invocated
Nobody will save your soul, dirty slob!