Translated from Hungarian (from the poem of Andrew Ady: http://www.hungarianhistory.com/lib/timeless/chapter28.htm) by Godfrey Turton.
Down the white moonlit road,
While shepherds are driving
The fleecy clouds in the sky,
On soundless hooves, nearer and nearer,
The horses of Death trot by.
Noiseless, fatal steeds,
And on each a shadow,
Sad silent shadow cavalier!
O’er the white road, at their coming,
The moon herself hides in fear.
Whence do they come? Who knows?
As they halt in their stirrups
The whole world lies abed.
But one saddle always is empty,
One horse always led.
And he before whom they halt
Mounts, ashen-pale, with them,
And on down the long white way
One moonlit nights they gallop,
Death and his hunt, for prey.
A little something I ran into during a JSTOR browsing session and wanted to share. I’m reminded immensely of the Wild Hunt with this poem, although it’s less rambunctious than the old stories are.
Ady, Andrew & Turton, Godfrey (1937). The Horses of Death. The Slavonic and East European Review, Vol. 16(46), pp. 40-41