Hero Poems - Poems For Hero
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Ruslan And Lydmila A.S. Pushkin - Poem by Yuri Starostin
RUSLAN AND LYUDMILA
For you the tsarinas of my soul,
The beauties, for you ones
The past times fables,
At o'clock the rest gold,
Under a whisper of the olden time talkative,
By the true hand I wrote;
Accept you my playful work!
Do not demanding no-ones praises,
I am happy by the sweet hope,
That the maiden with the tremble of the love
Will look, can be furtively,
On a songs guilty of mine.
At a curved seashore an green oak is;
The golden chain is on that oak:
Both a day and night the scientist cat
Goes and goes on the chain around;
Goes to the right - the song gets,
Goes to the left - a fairy tale tells.
There a miracles: there leshiy wanders,
The mermaid on the branches sits;
There on an unknown paths
Traces are of an unprecedented animals;
There the izba on a hens legs
Stands without a windows, without a doors;
There a wood and dale of an images are full;
There the waves arrives to the rise
On the sandy and empty oar,
And the thirty fine swordmans
By a series leaves clear waters,
And with them their sea uncle;
There the king's son by the way
Captivates the terrible tsar;
There in a clouds before the people
Through woods, through the seas
The sorcerer bears the athlete;
In a dungeon there a tsarevna grieves,
And the brown wolf truly serves her;
There a mortar with Baba Yaga
Goes, wanders by itself,
There tsar Kashchey over a gold withers;
There Russian spirit... There by Rus smells!
And there I was, and I drank a honey;
At the sea I saw an green oak;
Under it I sat, and the scientist cat
Told a fairy tales to me.
One I remember: this fairy tale
I will tell now to the light...
THE FIRST SONG
The affairs of the gone days ago,
The legend of the deep olden time.
In the crowd of the mighty sons,
With the friends, in the high gridnitsa
Vladimir-sun is feasted;
He gave out the smaller daughter
For the brave prince Ruslan
And the honey from the heavy glass
For their health drank.
Not soon as our ancestors ate,
Not soon as the moved around
Ladles, silver bowls
With the boiling beer and wine.
They are poured the fun into the heart,
The foam on the edges is hissed,
Its important the bowlers is carried
And low do bowed to visitors.
The speeches in the noise muffled have merged;
The cheerful circle of the visitors buzzes;
But the pleasant voice was suddenly bowled
And of the sonorous psaltery a fluent sound;
All have ceased, listen Bayan:
And the delightful singer glorifies
Lyudmila-charm, and Ruslan,
And Lelem is the wreath twisted to them.
But, by the passion ardent, tired,
Does not eat, does not drink, Ruslan enamoured;
At the friend darling, looks,
Sighs, is angry, burns
And, nipping a moustache from the un-suffer-doing,
Considers the every instant.
In the sad, with a cloudy forehead,
Behind a noisy, wedding table
The three young heroes sit;
Are silent, behind a empty ladle,
The circular cups are forgotten,
And the brew are unpleasant to them;
Do not hear prophetic Bayan;
Have looked down the confused sight:
That three contenders of Ruslan;
In a soul the unfortunate conceals
The love and hate poison.
One is Rogdaj, courageous warrior,
By the sword moved the apart limits
Of the rich Kiev fields;
Another is Farlaf, the haughty shouter,
In the feasts to nobody won,
But the modest soldier among the swords;
The last is full of a passionate thought
Young Hazaria khan Ratmir:
All three are pale and gloomy,
And a cheerful feast is not them in a feast.
Here it is terminated; rises by the numbers,
Have mixed up by the noisy crowds,
And all look at the young:
The bride has lowered the eyes,
As though the heart has become gloomy,
And the joyful groom is light.
But a shade is volumed whole nature,
It is near to the deaf midnight;
The boyars, having dozed off from the honey,
With the bow were go home.
The groom in delight, in sing on:
Caresses in the imagination
The bashful maiden beauty;
But with the secret, sad kindness
The grand duke by the good-wording
Grants a young couple.
And here the young bride
Does lead on the marriage bed;
The fires have gone out... And the night
Icon lamp is lighted up by Lel.
The lovely hopes have come true,
To the love the gifts are prepared;
The jealous clothes will fall
On the tsare-grads carpets...
You hear nor the enamoured whisper,
And the kisses a sweet sound,
And the interrupting grumble
Of the last shyness? . The spouse
Of the delights feels before;
And here they have come... Suddenly
The thunder has burst, the light has flashed in a fog,
The icon lamp dies away, the smoke runs,
Around all are nazed, all shivers,
And the soul has stood in Ruslan...
All has ceased. In the terrible silence
The voice strange was distributed twice,
And someone in the smoky depth
Has risen more a black haze foggy...
And again the tower is empty and silent;
There is a scared groom,
From the face the sweat rested slides;
Trembling, by the cool hand
He questions a gloom mute...
Oh the grief: there is no the girlfriend darling!
Catch an air empty;
Lyudmila are not in the darkness dense,
She is stolen by an unknown force.
Ah, if the martyr of the love
Suffers by the passion hopelessly,
Though sadly to live, my friends,
However to live still probably.
But after the long, long years
To embrace the enamoured girlfriend,
Of the desires, tears, melancholy the subject,
And suddenly the minute spouse
Forever to lose...Oh the friends,
Certainly better I would done die!
However unfortunate Ruslan is live.
But what the grand duke has told?
Strucken suddenly a rumour awful,
On the son-in-law anger enharmed,
Him and a court yard he convokes:
«Where, where is Lyudmila? » - questions
With the awful, ardent forehead.
Ruslan does not hear. «The children, friends!
I remember the former merits:
Oh, take pity you on the old man!
Tell, who from you agrees
To rides for my daughter?
Whose feat will be not vain,
To whom is be tormented, cry, the villain!
Could not save up own wife! -
I will give to whom in the spouses
With the half-kingdom of my great-grandfathers.
Who will be caused, the children, friends? .»
«I am! » - the sad groom said.
«I am! I am! » - have exclaimed with Rogdaem
Farlaf and joyful Ratmir:
«Now the horses we is saddled;
We are glad to travel all over the world.
Our father, we will not prolong apart;
Be not afraid: we go for dukeness ».
And with the mute gratitude
In the tears to them stretches hands
The old man exhausted with melancholy.
All four leave together;
Ruslan by the greaves as is killed;
The thought on the lost bride
Him torments and do die.
Sits down on the zealous horses;
Along the coast of Dnepr happily
Flies in a curling dust;
Already disappears in the distance;
The horsemen is not visible more...
But long time still looks
The grand duke in an empty field
And by the thought to them flies.
Ruslan was pined silently,
Both the sense and memory having lost.
Through a shoulder looking haughty
And Farlaf is important besided,
Having inflated, went beyond Ruslan.
He speaks: «Enforcely I
On the free has teared, the friends!
Well, is fast is I will meet a giant?
That by that the blood will flow,
That by that the victims of the love jealous!
Have fun, my true sword,
Have fun, my horse zealous! »
The Hazaria khan, in the mind
Already Lyudmila embracing,
Hardly does not dance over the saddle;
In him the blood plays young,
The look is full the fire of the hope:
So he skips at the full speed,
So teases the runner dashing,
Turns, do up on the racks
Or defiantly rushes on the hills again.
Rogday is gloomy, is silent -no words...
Fearing an unknown destiny
And tormed by the jealous in vain,
More then all he worry,
And frequently him look is terrible
On the prince is gloomy directed.
The contenders by one road
All together goes all the day.
Dnepr sloping coast became dark;
From the east the night shade flows;
The fogs over deep Dnepr;
It is time to their horses to have a rest.
Here at the foot of the hill by the wide
The wide road was crossed.
«We will part, it is time! - have tolds, -
To the unknown we will be entrusted to the destiny ».
And each horse, do not feeling a steel,
By the will the way has selected to itself.
What do you do, unfortunate Ruslan,
One in the deserted silence?
Lyudmila, the weddings day terrible,
All-time, it is thought, you dreamt.
Over the eyebrows the copper helmet having pulled,
From the powerful hands a bridle having left,
You by the step go between the fields,
And slowly in your soul
The hope is died, the belief ashes away.
But suddenly before the hero a cave is;
In the cave the light is. It directly to it
Goes under the dozing arches,
The coevals of the nature.
Has entered with the sad: what is he see?
In the cave the old aged man; the clear kind,
The quiet look, the grey-haired beard;
The icon lamp burns before him;
He sits at the ancient book,
Its attentively reading.
«Welcome, my son! -
He has told with a smile to Ruslan. -
Twenty years I here one
In a gloom of the old life I fade;
But at last has waited the day,
For a long time is propheted by me.
We are together shown by the desteny;
Sit down and listen to me.
Ruslan, you have lost Lyudmila;
Your firm spirit loses the forces;
But of the harms the fast instant will fly:
For a while the fate has comprehended you.
With the hope, by the cheerful believe
Be ready to do anything, do not despond;
Forward! By the sword and courageous breast
The way for the midnight punch.
Know, Ruslan: yours offender
The wizard terrible Chernomor,
A beauties the old thief is,
The owner of the midnight mountains.
Still nobody's in her monastery
Look did not get;
But you, of the malicious intrigues a fighter,
You will enter in it, and the villain
Will be die by yours arm.
To you should not to tell more:
The destiny of your coming days,
My son, in yours henceforth in an will».
Our hero to the aged man has fallen to the feet
And in pleasure kisses a hand.
The world to its eyes brightens,
And the heart has forgotten a flour.
Again he has revived; and suddenly again
On the flashed face the sorrow...
«The reason is clear of your melancholy;
But the grief is not difficult for a dispersing, -
The old man has told, - to you is terrible
The love of the grey-haired sorcerer;
Be rest, know: it is vain
And to the young maiden it is not terrible.
He move the stars from a sky,
He will whistle - the moon will begin to tremble;
But against the time law
Him science is not strong.
The jealous, quivering keeper
The locks of the ruthless doors,
He is only the ailing torturer
Of the charming captive.
Round her he silently wanders,
Curses a cruel own lot...
But, the kind hero, the day passes,
And the rest is necessary for you».
Ruslan on the soft moss lays down
Before the dying fire;
He searches to be forgotten by a dream,
Sighs, slowly spins...
In vain! The hero at last:
«Something is not slept, my father!
What do to do: I am sick by the soul,
And a dream not in a dream as nausea to live.
Allow me to freshen the heart
By yours talking sacred.
Forgive me the impudent question.
Open: who is you fertile,
Of the destinies the confidant is not understanding?
In the desert who has brought you? »
Having sighed with the smile sad-ing,
The old man in the answer: «the kind son,
I have forgotten of the far fatherland
The gloomy edge. The natural Finn,
In the valleys, to us ones, known,
Driving the herd of the villages neighbouring,
In a careless youth I knew
The one dense oak groves,
The streams, the caves of our rocks
Yes of the wild poverty the joy-ings.
But to live in the pleasant silence
It has been given not long to me.
Then near our settlement,
As the lovely colour one-ment,
Vein Naina. Between girlfriends
She is rustle by a beauty.
Once by the morning times
The herds on the dark meadow
I drove, the delay inflating;
Before me the stream rustled.
One, the beauty young
On the shore spun a wreath.
I was attracted with mine destiny...
Ah, the hero, there was Naina!
I to her - and the fatal blame
For an impudent look to me was an award,
And I have learnt the love by the soul
With her heaven joy,
With her painful melancholy.
The half of the year has dashed away;
I have tremblingly opened to her,
Has told: I love you, Naina.
But shy my sorrow
Naina with the proud was listened,
Only the own delights loving,
And indifferently answered:
«The shepherd, I do not love you! »
And all to me wildly, gloomy became:
The native grove, the shade of an oak forest,
The games of the shepherds are cheerful -
Anything did not console a melancholy.
In a sad the heart have dry up, inertly.
And at last I have conceived
To leave the Finnish fields;
The seas un-righting abysses
With a team brotherly to cross float
And by the abusive glory to deserve
The attention proud Naina.
I have caused the courageous fishermen
To search the dangers and gold.
For the first time the quiet country of the fathers
Has heard an abusive sound of the damask steel
And the noise of the unpacific shuttles.
I have float departured afar, by the hopes full,
With the crowd of the fearless countrymen;
The ten years of a snow and a wave we
Grew by scarlet blood the enemies.
The rumour have rushed: the tsars of the foreign land
Have feared my impudence;
Their proud teams
Ran the northern swords.
We cheerfully, we terribly fought,
Have divided the tributes and gifts,
And with the lossers sat down
For the friendly feasts.
But the heart, full Naina,
Under the noise of the fight and feasts,
Pined by the secret sorrow,
Have searched the Finnish coast.
It is time to go home, I have told, the friends!
Let's hang up the idle chain armours
In the shadow of the native hut.
Has told - and the oars have rustled;
And, the fear lost behind himself,
In the gulf of the dear fatherland
We with the proud pleasure have flown.
The old dreams have come true,
Have come true the ardent desires!
The minute of the sweet meeting,
And for me you have flashed!
To feet of the beauti-ess haughty
I have brought a sword stained by the blood,
The corals, gold and pearls;
Before her, by the passion feasted,
By silent plenty the surrounded
Her envious girlfriends,
There was I the captive obedient;
But the maiden has disappeared from me,
Told-ed with a kind indifferent:
«The hero, I do not love you! »
To what to tell, my son,
What to retell there is no a force?
Ah, and now one, one,
By the soul having fallen asleep, in the doorway of a tomb,
I remember the sorrow, and at the times,
As about the past the thought will be born,
On the beard my grey-haired
The tear heavy slides.
But listen: in my native land
Between the deserted fishermans
The science marvellous is concealed.
Under a shelter of the eternal silence,
Among the woods, in a solitude afar
There live the grey-haired sorcerers;
To the subjects of the high wisdom
Their all thoughts are directed;
All hears their voice terrible,
That was and that will be again,
And to their terrible will are subject
Both a coffin and the love.
And I am of the love the selector greedy,
Has dared in the grief desolate
By the charms to involve Naina
And in the proud heart of the maiden cold
The love by the magics to light.
Hastened in the embraces of the freedom,
In a lonely gloom of the woods;
And there, in the school of the sorcerers,
Has spent the invisible years.
The desired instant has come for a long time,
And the secret terrible of the nature
I by the light thought have comprehended:
I have learnt the force of the scorces.
The love wreath, the wreath to the desires!
Now, Naina, you mine!
Our victory, I thought.
But really the winner
There was a fate, is persistent my persecutor.
In the dreams of the hope young,
In the delight of the ardent desire,
I create hasty the scorces,
To call the spirits - and in the darkness wood
The arrow has flown thunderous,
The magic whirlwind has up the howl,
The Earth has shuddered under a foot...
And suddenly sits before me
The old woman decrepit, grey-haired,
By the hollow eyes sparkling,
With a hump, with the shaked head,
Of the sad decay a picture.
Ah, the hero there was Naina! .
I was terrified and was silent,
The terrible phantom has measured by the eyes,
In a doubt still did not trust
And has suddenly begun to cry, has cried:
«Probably nor! Ah, Naina, whether you are!
Naina, where is your beauty?
Tell, really the heavens
So have terribly changed you?
Tell, for a long time nor, leave the light,
I have left with the soul and with the darling?
Whether for a long time? . »« Exactly forty years, -
There were the maidens fatal answer, -
Today to seventy me beat.
What do to do, - to me she peeps, -
By the croud the years have flown by.
Has passed my, yours spring -
Both of us had time to grow old.
But, the friend, listen: it doesn't matter
The incorrect youth loss.
Certainly, I am grey hair now,
A little bit, maybe, hump;
Not that in the olden time was,
Not so be live, not so be lovely;
But (has added the toldess)
I will reveal the secret: I am the sorcerer! »
Also it was really so.
Mute, motionless before her,
I perfect was the fool
With all my knowledge.
But here it is terrible: the sorcery
Has quite come true by the misfortune.
My grey-haired deity
To me flared by the new passion.
Having twisted by a smile a terrible mouth,
By the sepulchral voice the freak
Mutters to me the love recognition.
Imagine mine suffer!
I was trembled, dumped the look;
She through the cough was continued
The heavy, passionate conversation:
«So, I have know now the heart;
I see, the loyal friend, it
For the gentle passion it is born;
The feelings have woken up, I burn down,
Pinned by the desire of the love...
Come to my embraces...
Oh lovely, lovely! I die...»
And meanwhile she, Ruslan,
Blinked by the languid eyes;
And meanwhile for my caftan
Kept by the lean hands;
And meanwhile - I was in-died,
For the horror, closed the eyes;
And suddenly did not enough some force to suffer;
I with shout have escaped, ran.
She do after: «Oh, unworthy!
You have revolted my century quiet,
The innocent maiden days are clear!
You have achieved love of Naina,
And you despise - here men!
By the change all of them breathe!
Alas, herself blame;
He has seduced me, the unfortunate!
I was gave to the passionate love...
The traitor, the monster! Oh a shame!
But tremble, the maiden thief! »
So we have left. Since then
I live in mine one-ment
With the disappointed soul;
And in the world to the aged man the console
Is the nature, wisdom and rest.
Already the tomb calls me;
But the former feelings
Still the old woman has not forgotten
And the late flame of the love
From the disappointment into the rage has transformed.
By the black soul the rage loving,
The sorcerer old, of course,
Will begin to hate also you;
But the grief on the earth is not eternal ».
Our hero with the greed was listened
The stories of the aged man; the eyes are clear
By the easy somnolence, did not close
And the silent flight of the night
In a deep thought, has not heard.
But day shines the radiant...
With the sigh the hero grateful
Is embrased the aged man-sorcerer;
The soul by the hope is full;
Goes out. By the feet has squeezed
Ruslan the begun neigh horse,
In a saddle has recovered, has given a whistle.
«My father, do not leave me».
And riddles on an empty meadow.
The grey-haired wise man to the young friend
Shouts after: «The happy way!
Forgive, love the own spouse,
The councils of the aged man do not forget! »
SONG THE SECOND
The contenders in the abuse art,
Do not know the world between youself;
Bears to the gloomy glory a tribute
And revels by the enmity!
Let the world before you freezes,
Marvelling to the terrible celebrations:
Nobody will not revent you,
Nobody will not prefuse you.
The contenders of other sort,
You, the knights of the parnas mountains,
Try not to make laugh the people
By the immodest noise of your quarrels;
Quarrel - only carefully.
But you, the contenders in the love,
Live friendly, if it is possible!
Believe to me, my friends:
To whom by the indispensed destiny
The maiden heart is fated,
That will be lovely to spite of the Universe;
To become angry is silly and guilty.
When Rogdaj unrestrained,
By the deaf presentiment wearied,
Leaved the own companions,
Was started up in the edge lonely
And went between deserts wood,
In the deep thought is shipped -
The evil ghost disturbed and confused
Him grieving soul,
And the hero cloudy was whispered:
«I will kill! . The barriers all I will destroy...
Ruslan! . You will know me...
Now the maiden will cry...»
And suddenly, turned a horse,
At full speed back he riddle.
At that time valorous Farlaf,
All the morning long he is sweetly sleep,
Having taken cover from the beams of the half-day,
At a streamlet, alone,
For the enharded forces sincere,
Had dinner in peace silence.
As suddenly he sees: someone in the field,
As the storm, rushes on a horse;
And, the time do not spending more,
Farlaf, having left own dinner,
The spear, chain armour, helmet, gloves,
Has jumped in the saddle and carelessly
Flies - and that is behind him after.
«Stop, the disgraceful runner! -
To Farlaf the unknown person shouts. -
Disdained, allow youself to pursue up!
Allow the head to thorn from you! »
Farlaf, having know a voice Rogday,
From the fear is whirled, stood
And, the certain death expecting,
The horse drove more faster.
So precisely the hare hasty,
Having pressed ears timidly,
On the hummocks, by the field, through the woods
By the jumps rushes from the dog.
On the place of the nice runaway
By the spring of the melted snow
The streams muddy flew
And dug an humid breast of the earth.
To the ditch, running the horse zealous come,
Has ample a tail and a white mane,
The steel reins has snack
And through a ditch has jumped;
But the shy horseman head over heels
Has fallen down heavy in the dirty ditch,
The earths has not look with the heavens
And the death to accept he was ready.
Rogday to the rave flies up;
The cruel sword is brought;
«Be lost, the coward! Die! » - broadcasts...
Suddenly he knows Farlaf;
Looks, and the hands have fallen;
The disappointment, amazing, anger
In him lines were represented;
Scrached by the teeth, deaf up,
The hero, with the bowed head
Faster driven from a ditch,
Raged... But up to up
He did not laugh by himself.
Then he has met at the foot of the hill
The old woman slightly lived,
Humpbacked, awfully grey-haired.
He by the road staff
To him in the north has directed.
«You there will find him», - have told.
Rogday by the fun has begun to boil
And to the certain death has flyed.
And our Farlaf? In a ditch remained,
Without daring to breath; about himself
He, lying, thought: whether I am live?
Where the malicious contender is disappeared?
Suddenly he hears directly over him
The old women voice deathly:
«Rise, the good fellow: all is silently in the field;
You will meet nobody more;
I have herded to you the horse;
Stand up, obey me ».
The confused hero necessarily
By the creep left a dirty ditch;
Shy looking the place around,
Has sighed and said reviving:
«Well, thank God, I am healthy! »
«Believe! - the old woman continued, -
Subtly to find Lyudmila;
She has run afar;
Not to us with you to get her.
It is dangerous to drive over the world;
You, a right, youself will be not glad.
Follow to my council,
Step slowly back.
Under Kiev, in one is,
In the hereditary settlement
Remain better without a cares:
From us Lyudmila will not leave ».
Having told, has disappeared. In the un-suffer
Reasonable our hero
Has immediately gone home,
Heart-ly forgotten about the glory
And even about young princess;
And a slightest noise on the oak grove,
A flight of the titmouse, a grumble of the waters
He be is in a hot and sweat.
Meanwhile Ruslan far rushes;
In a solitude of woods, in a solitude of fields
By the habitual thought aspires
To Lyudmila, own pleasure,
And speaks: «whether I will find the friend?
Where you are is my soul of the spouse?
I will see nor your light look?
I will hear nor the gentle conversation?
Or it is fated, that to the magician
You the eternal captive was
And, by the mournful maiden growing old,
In a gloomy dungeon was flowered out?
Or the contender impudent
Will come? . No, no, my friend invaluable:
Still at me my true sword,
Still the head has not fallen from the shoulders ».
Once, at the dark times,
On the stones by the coast abrupt
Our hero went over the river.
All ceased. Suddenly behind him
The arrows instant guzzle,
Of a chain armours the ring, and shout, and ripple,
And across the field the deaf footfall.
'Stop! ' - has burst a thunderous voice.
He has looked back: in the pure field,
Having up a spear, flies with a whistle
The furious horseman, and threaten
The prince to him towards has rushed off.
«Aga! Has caught up you! Stop! -
The equestrian daring shouts, -
Prepare, the friend, on the dead cutle;
Now lay down among the local places;
And there search for a brides ».
Ruslan was burn, has shuddered by the anger;
He knows this angry voice...
My friends! And our maiden?
Let's leave heroes on an hour;
Again I will remember them soon.
And so be for a long be time to me
To think about young princess
And about terrible Chernomore.
To My freakish dream
Sometimes the immodest confidant,
I have told, how at night dark
The Lyudmila gentle beauty
From inflamed Ruslan
Was hid suddenly among a fog.
The unfortunate! When the villain,
By the strong own arm
Thorn-ed you from the marriage bed,
Has strew, as the whirl(-wind) , to the clouds
Through a heavy smoke and gloomy air
And has suddenly rushed away to own mountains -
You have lost the feelings and memory
And in the terrible tower of the sorcerer,
The silent, quivering, pale
During one instant has come to be.
From a threshold of my hut
So I saw, among the summer days,
When for a haughty hen
The sultan cowardly of a hen house,
My cock on a court yard ran
And by the voluptuous wings
Already the girlfriend embraced;
Over them by the artful circles
To the chickens of a settlement the old thief,
Accept the pernicious measures,
Rushed, the grey kite floated
And has fallen as a splash on a court yard.
Has strew, flies. In the horor claws
In the darkness of the safe clefts
The villain carries away the poor.
In vain, by own sorrow
And by the cold fear the amazed
Cock calls the loveress...
He sees only the flying down,
By the flying wind bringed.
Till the morning the young princess
Lay, by the burdensome forget-ing,
As though the terrible asleep dreams,
Is fill - at last she
Has eyes up, by the blamed ardent
And by the vague horror it is full;
The soul flies for sweating,
For someone searches with the singing;
«Where darling, - whispers, - where is the spouse? »
Calls and has grown stiff suddenly.
Looks with a fear around.
Lyudmila, where is your front room?
The unfortunate maiden lies
Among the down pillows,
Under the proud shade of the curtain;
The veils, the magnificent feather-bed
In the brushes, in the expensive patterns;
Everywhere the brocade fabrics;
Play the yahonts, as a heat;
Around the golden smoke-sets
Give up the fragrant steam;
There is enough... Good is not need to me
To describe the magic house:
For a long time already Sheherazada
Me has warned in that.
But a light tower is not a joy,
When we do not see the friend in it.
The three maidens, of the beauty wonder,
In clothes easy and charmy
To the princess came, have approached
And have bowed to the earth.
Then by the inaudible steps
One has more close approached;
To the princess by the air fingers
The golden plait has braided
With the art today not new,
And has twisted with a wreath pearl-barley
The circle of the pale forehead.
For her, modestly the look declining,
Then another was approached;
The azure, magnificent sundress
Has dressed the Lyudmila harmonous camp;
The gold curls have become covered,
Both a breast, and young shoulders
By the veil, transparent, as a fog.
The envious cover kisses
The beauty, worthy to the heavens,
And the easy footwear compresses
The two legs, the miracle from miracles.
To the princess the last maiden
Submits the pearl belt.
Meanwhile the hidden singer
Sings to her the cheerful songs.
Alas, nor the stones of the necklace,
Neither the sundress, nor the pearls a number,
Nor the praise and fun songs
Her souls do not amuse;
In vain the mirror draws
Her beauty, her dress:
Dumped the stood look,
She is silent, she grieves.
That, who, in-loved the truth,
Read on the dark hearts bottom,
Certainly know about youself,
That if the woman in the grief
Through the tears, furtively, somehow,
To spite a habit and mind,
Will forget to look in a mirror, -
That is sad to her outright.
But here Lyudmila again is one.
Without knowing what to begin, she
To the lattice window approaches,
And her look is sad wanders
In the space of a cloudy distance.
All is dead. The snow plains
By the bright carpets have laid down;
The gloomy mountains tops stands
In a monotonous whiteness
And dozes in the eternal silence;
Around it is not visible a smoky roof,
It is not visible the traveller in a snow,
And a sonorous horn of cheerful catching
Does not blow in the deserted mountains;
Only occasionally with the sad whistle
The whirl revolts in the pure field
And on the brink of the grey-haired heavens
Swings the bared wood.
In despair tears, Lyudmila
For the horror the face has closed.
Alas, what waits now for her!
She runs at the silver door;
It with the music was opened,
And our maiden has come
In the garden. A captivating limit:
More perfectly the gardens of Armidy
And some owned
The tsar Solomon or the prince of Taurida.
Before her the strewed, rustled
Magnificent oak forests;
The avenues of a palm trees, and laurel wood,
And the fragrant myrtles number,
And the cedars proud tops,
And the gold oranges
By the mirror the waters are reflected;
The hillocks, groves and valleys
Are recovered a spring by the fire;
With a cool the May wind is twisted
Among the fascinated fields,
And the chinese nightingale whistle
In a gloom of the quivering branches;
The diamond fountains fly
With the cheerful noise to the clouds:
Under them the idols blesses
And, it is thought, are live; Fidy himself,
The pet of Feb and Pallada,
Admiring them, at last,
From the hands would drop annoyingly
The fascinated cutle.
Being split droped about the marble barriers,
By the pearl, fiery arch
The waterfall splash, shaft;
And the streamlets in a shade wood
Hardly are twisted by a sleep wave.
The rest and cool shelter,
Through the eternal greens here and there
The light arbours flash;
Everywhere the roses live branches
Blossoms and breathes on the tracks.
But inconsolable Lyudmila
Goes, goes and does not look;
The magics luxury to her is cool-en,
To her the light kind is sad luxury;
Where, she not knowing, wanders,
The magic garden around, bypasses,
Give a freedom to the bitter tears,
And the gloomy looks erects
To the relentless heavens.
The fine look was suddenly shined:
To the lips she has pressed a finger;
It seemed, the intention terribl-ed
Was born... The terrible way opened:
The high bridge over a stream
Before her hangs on the two rocks;
In the sadness heavy and deep
She approaches - and in the tears
At the noisy waters has looked,
Has struck, sobbing, in a breast,
In the waves has dared to sink -
However in the waters has not jumped
And be continued a way.
My fine Lyudmila,
By the sun running since the morning,
Was tired, the tears has drained,
In a soul has thought: it is time!
On the grass she sit, has looked back -
And suddenly over her the shade of the tent,
Rustling, with a cool was opened;
The magnificent dinner is before her;
The device from a bright crystal;
And in the silence behind the branches
The hidden harp has played.
The captured princess marvels,
But secretly she thinks:
«Afar from the darling, in the bondage,
To what is to me to live on the light more?
Oh you, whose the disastrous passion
Me torments and cherishes,
To me the villain power is not terrible:
Lyudmila is able to die!
It is not need for me of your tents,
Neither a boring songs, nor a feasts -
I will not begin to eat, I will not listen,
I will die among your gardens! »
Has thought - and began to eat.
The princess rises, and in a moment a tent,
And the magnificent luxury device,
And the harp sounds... All was gone;
Still all became silent;
Lyudmila again one in the gardens
Wanders from a grove in groves;
Meanwhile in the azure heavens
The moon, the night tsarina floats,
The haze from the different directions came
And silently on the hills asleep;
The princess the dream involuntarily drives,
And suddenly the unknown force
More gently, than a vernal breeze,
Her on the air move ups,
Bears by the air in a hall
And carefully lowers
Through an incense of the evening roses
On the grief box, the box of the tears.
The three maidens in a moment again come
And round her have begun to fuss,
That for the magnificent night to remove an attire;
But their sad, vague look
And forced deaf
Showed secretly co-suffers
And to destinies the ailing reproach.
But we will hasten: by their hand gentle
The undressed sleepy princess;
The charming by a charm negligent,
In the one snow-white shirt
She lays down to asleep.
With a sigh of the maiden they have bowed,
More soon as possible have left
And silently to close up a door.
What is our captive now!
Shivers as a leaf, does not dare to breath;
The colded persy, the look darkens;
The instant dream from the eyes runs;
Does not sleep, has doubled the attention,
Motionlessly in the darkness looks...
All is gloomy, the dead deaf!
Only the hearts hears trembling...
And it is thought... The silence whispers,
Go by go to her bed;
In the pillows princess hides -
And suddenly... Oh fear! . And really
The noise was rushed; the dawned
By the instant splash the night darkness,
Instantly the door is opened;
Silently, proudly acting,
By the nude sabres sparkling,
The arabians long line goes
In the pairs, grandly, however probably,
And on the pillows carefully
The grey-haired beard bears;
And enters pompously behind her,
Move up the majestic neck,
The humpbacked dwarf from the doors:
To him head shaved,
By the high cap covered,
The beard belonged.
So he was approached: then
The princess from the bed has jumped,
To the grey-haired garlic for a cap
By the fast arm has seized,
The shivering fist has brought up
And in the fear has begun to squeal so,
That all arabians has deafened.
Trembling, the poor man has writhed,
The princess frightened more faintly;
Having clamped the ears somewhat quicker,
Wanted to run, but in the beard
Has got confused, has fallen and fights;
Stands, has fallen; in the such trouble
A arabian black plenty was rushed about;
Rustle, are pushed, run,
Catch the sorcerer in an armful
And to untangle bear,
Loss at Lyudmila the cap.
But what our kind hero is?
You remember a unwaited meeting?
Take own fast pencil,
Draw, Orloffsky, the night and cuttle!
By the light quivering of the moon
The heroes cruelly have battled;
The hearts are constrained by their anger,
The spears are thrown far,
Already the swords are shattered,
The chain armours by the blood are covered,
The armor- boards cracks, in a pieces are broken...
They have seized on the horses;
Blowing up to the sky the black ashes,
Under them ruched horses fights;
The fighters are motionlessly weaved,
Each other having squeezed, remains,
As though to the saddle are nailed;
Their members are shown by rage;
Have intertwined and grow stiff;
On the veins the fast blame runs;
On the enemy breast the breast shivers -
And here fluctuate, weaken -
To Someone fall... Suddenly my hero,
Having boiled, by a iron hand
From a saddle thorn the equestrian,
Move up, holds over itself
And in the waves from the coast throws.
«Be lost! - terribly exclaims; -
Die, the envious spiteful mine! »
You have guessed, my reader,
With whom valorous Ruslan fought:
That was a bloody fights the finder,
Rogday, the hope of the inhabitants of Kiev,
To Lyudmila the gloomy adorer.
He long the Dnepr coast
Was searched a traces of the contender;
Has found, has overtaken, but the former force
To the pet of the fight has changed,
And the Russia ancient fellow
Has found the end in the desert.
And it was audible that Rogday
Those waters the young mermaid
On the calm persy has accepted
And, greedy the hero kissing,
On the bottom with the laughter has carried away,
And long after, at the dark night
Wandering near the silent coast,
The athlete huge phantom
Scarecrows the deserted fishermen.
THE THIRD SONG
In vain you were concealed in the shade
For the peace, happy friends,
My verses! You were not hid
From the angry envy of the eyes.
The pale critic, to it in service,
The question to me has made fatal:
Why the Ruslan girlfriend,
As though on a laughter to her spouse,
To call both the maiden and princess?
You see, kind my reader,
Here the rage black press!
Tell, Zoil, tell, the traitor,
Well how and what is to me to answer?
Grown red, unfortunate, god with you!
Grown red, I do not want to argue;
Happy that the rights by the soul,
In the restrained mildness I am silent.
But you will understand me, Klimen,
You will dumped the languid eyes,
You, a victim of boring Gimen...
I see: the secret tear
Will fall on my verse distinct-ed to the heart;
You have reddened, the look has ashed;
Has sighed silently... The sigh clear!
The jealous man: be afraid, hour is near;
Cupid with capricious Annoy
Have entered in the courageous plot,
And for your disgraceful head
The vindictive attire is ready.
The morning coldy shone
On the cinciput of the midnight mountains;
But in the marvellous tower all was silent.
In the latent annoy Chernomor,
Without a cap, in a morning dressing gown,
Was yawned angrily on the bed.
Around him beard grey-haired
The slaves crowded are silent,
And gently the bone crest
Was combed its windings;
Meanwhile, for the advantage and beauty,
On the infinite moustaches
The east aromas flews,
And the artful curls were twisted;
As suddenly, from nowhere,
In a window flies the winged sneak;
Rattling by the iron scales,
It in the fast rings was bent
And suddenly by Naina has turned back
Before the crowd amazing.
«I welcome you, - has told, -
The co-brother for long time honoured by me!
Till now I knew Chernomor
By the one loudly rumour;
But the secret fate connects
Now us by the common enmity;
The danger threatens you,
The cloud over you has hung;
And the voice of the offended honour
Me to the vengeance calls ».
With the look full of the artful flattery,
To her the carlic hand submits,
The prophetic: «Marvellous Naina!
To me your union is precious.
We shames the insidiousness of the Finn;
But of the gloomy intrigues I am not afraid:
The opponent weak to me is not terrible;
Learn wonderful my lot:
This fertile beard
Not without reason Chernomor is decorated.
Till much its hair grey-haired
The hostile sword will not chop,
Anybody from the heroes dashing,
Anybody from the mortal will not ruin
The slightest my plans;
Mine will be a century of Lyudmila,
Ruslan to a coffin is doomed! »
And gloomy the witch has repeated:
«He will be lost! He will be lost! »
Then three times has hissed,
Three times has stamped by the foot
And by the black sneak has departed.
Shining in a brocade cope,
The sorcerer, by the sorcerness, encouraged,
Cheerfuled, has dared again
To bear to the feet of the maiden captured
The moustaches, humility and love.
The dwarf bearded is discharged,
Again goes to her chambers;
Passes the long rooms number:
The princess in them is not present. He go afar, in a garden,
In the laurel wood, to the lattice of the garden,
Along the lake, round the waterfalls,
Under the bridges, in the arbours... No!
The princess has left, the trace was gone also!
Who will express him confuse,
Both a roar, and trembling frenzy?
From the annoy of day he do not seen.
The wild groan of the carlic was distributed:
«Here, the slaves, run!
Here, I hope for you!
Now to me find Lyudmila!
More likely, hear nor? Now!
Not that - you joke with me -
All I will strangle you by the beard! »
The reader, I will tell either to you,
Where the beauti-ness was disappeared?
All night long she to own destiny
In the tears was marvelled and - laughed.
The beard scarecrows her,
But Chernomor now was known,
And he was ridiculous, and never
With the laughter the horror is un-joined.
Towards to the morning beams
Lyudmila was left the bed
And a look involuntary has turned
To the high, pure mirrors;
Involuntarily the curls golden
From the lily shoulders has raised;
Involuntarily the dense hair
By the negligent hand has braided;
The yesterday's dresses
Unintentionally in the corner has found;
Having sighed, has put on and from the annoy
Quietly to cry she was began;
However from the true glass,
Sighing, did not reduce a look,
And to the maiden has occurred,
In the weary of the capricious thoughts,
To try dress a cap of Chernomor.
All is silent, anybody here is not present;
Nobody will not look at the girl...
And the girl in seventeen years
What the cap will not stick!
To do dressed is never laziness!
Lyudmila has started turning the cap;
On the eyebrow, directly, aslant
And the plot is back to front.
And what be? Oh the miracle of the old days!
Lyudmila was gone out in the mirror;
Has turned - before her
Former lyudmila has appeared;
Back the plot - again is not present;
Has removed - and in the mirror! «It is fine!
Good, the sorcerer, good, my light!
Now to me here is safety;
Now I will get rid of the efforts! »
And a cap of the old villain
The princess, for the pleasure reddening,
Has put on back to front.
But we will come back to the hero.
It is not a shame either to be engaged to us
So long by the cap, beard,
Handed Ruslan to the destinies?
Having made with Rogday the fight cruel,
He has passed the dark forest;
Before him the wide dale has opened
At the shine of the morning heavens.
The hero necessarily trembles:
He sees the old fight field.
All afar is empty; here and there
The bones is yellow; on the hills
The quivers, armours are scattered;
Where is a harness, where is a rusty board;
In the hand bones there the sword lies;
By the grass the shaggy helmet has acquired there
And the old skull decays in it;
The athlete there a whole skeleton is
With him plunged horse
Lies motionless; the spears, arrows
In the crude earth piled,
And the peace ivy twists its...
Anything to the silent silence
Of this desert does not revolt,
And the sun from the clear height
To the death valley lights up.
With a sigh the hero round itself
Looks by the sad eyes.
«Oh the field, the field, who to you
Has covered by the dead bones?
Whose the fleet horse trampled down you
In the last hour of the bloody fight?
Who has fallen on you with the glory?
Whose the sky heard prayers?
Why, the field, you has ceased
And planted by the grass forgeting? .
The times from the eternal darkness,
Perhaps, is not and to me the safety!
Perhaps, on the mute hill
Will stand the Ruslan silent coffin,
And the loud Bayans strings
Shall not speak about it! »
But my hero has soon remembered,
That the kind sword is necessary to the hero
And even the armor; and the hero
From the last fight is unhanded.
He bypasses the field around;
In the bushes, among bones forgotten,
In the bulk of the decaying chain armours,
The swords and helmets shattered
To himself an armour he searches.
The rumble and steppe muted have woken up,
The crash and ring has risen in the field;
He has lifted the board, not choosing,
Has found both the helmet and the sonorous horn;
But only a sword could not find.
To the abuse valley going round,
He sees the set of a swords,
But all are easy, yes are too small,
And the prince a handsome man was not languid,
Not that the hero of our days.
That something to play from the boredom,
The steel spear he took in the hands,
He has dress the chain armour on the breast
And further gone on a journey.
The ruddy decline has turned pale
Over the strewed earth;
The blue fogs is smoken,
And the gold month ascends;
The steppe has naz-ed. By the dark path
Our thoughtful Ruslan goes
And sees: through the night fog
In the distance the hill huge blackens,
And something terrible snores.
He is near to the hill, is near - hears:
The wonderful hill as though breathes.
Ruslan listens and looks
Dauntlessly, with the late spirit;
But, moving by the timid ear,
The horse tops, shivers,
Shakes by the obstinate head,
And the mane by the raks has up.
Suddenly the hill, by the cloudless moon
In the fog faintly dawned,
Becomes clearer; the brave prince looks -
And the miracle sees before himself.
Whether I will find the paints and words?
Before him a live head.
The huge eyes by the dream are filled;
Snores, swinging the helmet feathery,
And feathers in the dark height,
As a shades, go, fluttering.
In the awful beauty
Over the gloomy steppe towering,
By the silence surrounded,
The deserts watchman anonymous,
To Ruslan It stand
By the bulk terrible and foggy.
In the unable-ment he wants
To destroy the mysterious dream.
Closer examining a miracle,
He has gone round the head around
And stand before the nose silently;
Tickling the nostrils by the peak,
And, winkled, the head has yawned,
Has opened the eyes and has sneezed...
The whirle has risen, the steppe has trembled,
The dust has risen; from the eyelashes, from the moustaches,
From the eyebrows the owls has flied;
the groves have woken up are silent,
The echo has sneezed - a horse zealous
Has neigh up, has jump up, has flown away,
Hardly the hero has remained sitting,
And the voice noisy was give following:
«Where go you, the hero unreasonable?
Go back, I do not joke!
Just the impudent person I will swallow! »
Ruslan with the comptemp has looked back,
By the reins has kept a horse
And with the proud kind has grinned.
«What do you want from me? -
Gloomed, the head has exclaimed. -
Here the destiny has sent the visitor to me!
Listen, be cleaned away!
I want to sleep, now night,
Farewell! »But the well-known hero,
Listen the rough words,
Has exclaimed the pompous angry:
«Be silent, the empty pate!
I have heard the true, happened:
Though the forehead is wide, yes the brain has not enough!
I go, go, do not whistle,
And as I will drive on, I will not lower! »
Then, from the fury growing dumb,
By the constrained rage burning,
The head was inflated; as a heat,
The blooded eyes have begun to sparkle;
Foamed the lips have begun to tremble,
From the lips, ears the steam has risen -
And suddenly it that was a force,
Towards to the prince began to blow;
In vain the horse, closed the eyes,
Having inclined the head, powered the breast,
Through the whirle, rain and twilight of a night
The incorrect continues a way;
Filled by the fear, blinded,
He rushes again, exhausted,
Far in the field to have a rest.
Again to address the hero wants -
It is again reflected, the hope is not present!
And a head to it after,
As the madwoman, laughs loudly,
Rattles: «Ah, the hero! Ah, the hero!
Where you are? More silently, more silently, stop!
Hey, the hero, a neck you will break for nothing;
Be not afraid, the equestrian, and me
Please though by one blow,
Yet done not doom the horse ».
And meanwhile of the hero
It is teased by the terrible language.
Ruslan, cuted the annoy in the heart,
Threatens silently by the peak,
Shakes his hand free,
And, having tremble up, the cold damask steel
Was stuck in the impudent language.
And the blood from the mad pharynx
By the river has run in a moment.
From an astonishment, a pain, anger,
In a minute lose the impudence,
The head was looked at the prince,
Was gnawed the iron and turned pale
Hoted in the quiet spirit,
So sometimes among our scene
The bad pupil of the Melpomene,
By the sudden whistle is deafened,
Nothing he sees,
Turns pale, forgets the role,
Shivers, having hung the head,
And, stammering, muted
Before the derisive crowd.
Happy using the instant,
To a filled head by the shame,
As the hawk, the athlete flies
With the upped, terrible right hand
And in the cheek by the heavy mitten
From the ample strikes a head;
And the steppe was announced by the blow;
Around a dewy grass
By the bloody foam it was empurpled,
And, having reeled, the head
Has turned over, has swept,
And the pig-iron helmet has begun to knock.
Then on a place deserted
The powerful sword has begun to sparkle.
Our hero in the cheerful trembling
Has seized it and to the head
On the blood-stained grass
Runs with the cruel intention
To it the nose and ears to chop off;
Already Ruslan is ready to strike,
Has already waved by the sword wide -
Suddenly, amazed, he listen
Of the asking heads the pity groan...
And he lowers silently the sword,
In him the furious anger dies,
And the rough revenge will fall
In the soul, by the prayer, pacified:
So on the valley an ice thaws,
By the beam of a midday, amazed.
«You have taught me, the hero, -
With a sigh the head has told, -
Your right hand has proved,
That I am guilty before you;
Henceforth I to you am obedient;
But, the hero, be magnanimous!
It is worthy to the crying my lot.
And I was the hero daring!
In the bloody fights of an enemy
To myself I equal did not ripen;
It is happy, when would not have
By the contender the young brother!
False-ful, spiteful Chernomor,
You, you are the quilty of all my troubles!
The shame of the our family,
Born by carlic, with the beard,
My marvellous growth from the young days
He could not see without annoy
And became for that in the soul
Me, cruel to hate.
I always was a little simple,
Though am high; and this unfortunate,
Having the silliest growth,
He is clever as a demon - and is malicious terribly.
Besides, know, to my trouble,
In him wonderful beard
The force fatal is concealed,
And, all on the light, despising,
How long the beard is whole -
The traitor does not fear a spite.
Here he once with the friendship kind
«Listen, - artfully to me has told, -
Do not refuse the important service:
In the black books I have found,
That are behind the east mountains,
On the silent exhausting coast,
In a deaf cellar, under the locks
The sword is stored - and what is so? Fear!
I have disassembled in the magic darkness,
That by the decree the hostile fates
This sword will be knowing to us;
That it will ruin us both:
To me will chop off my beard,
To you the head; do judge youself,
To how much is important to us the getting
This creation of the evil ghosts! »
«Well, what? Where is here the dufficult-ing? -
I have told to the carlic, - I am ready;
I go, though for the light limits ».
And he has a pine on the shoulder,
And on another for the council
The villain of the brother has planted;
He was started up in the far road,
Walked, walked and, thank to God,
As though to spite a prophecy,
All is happy by the start went.
Behind the remote mountains
We have found a fatal cellar;
I swept his by the hands
And the undercover sword has got.
But no! The destiny is wanted that:
Between us the quarrel has begun to boil -
And it was, I admit, about it!
Question: to whom have got the sword?
I was argued, the carlic got excited;
Quarrelled long; at last
The dodge was invented by the sly fellow,
Has become silent and as if it was softened.
«We will leave the useless dispute, -
Important Chernomor has told to me, -
We will defame our union by that;
The mind orders to live in the peace;
To the destiny to solve we will give,
To whom this sword belongs.
To the earth we will nestle the ear both
(What will be not not invented by the rage!) ,
And who will hear a first ring,
That have got the sword to a coffin ».
He has told and has laid down on the earth.
I foolishly also was stretched;
I lie, I do not hear anything,
Minded: will deceit him!
But himself he was cruelly deceived.
The villain in the deep silence,
Having half-risen, on the tiptoe to me
Has crept behind, has swung;
As the whirle the sharp sword has whistled,
And before I have looked back,
The head has flied from the shoulders -
And the supernatural force
In it has stopped the lives spirit.
My skeleton has acquired by the thorn;
In the distance, in the country, by the people forgotten,
My ashes not buried have decayed;
But the spiteful carlic has transferred
Me in this edge lonely,
Where eternally should guard
By you today the taken sword.
Oh the hero! You are safed by the destiny,
Take it, and god with you!
Perhaps, on own way
You will meet the carlic-magician -
Ah, if you notice him,
To the insidiousness, rage do revenge!
And at last I will be happy,
Easy the world I will leave this -
And in my gratitude
Your slap in the face I will forget ».
THE FOURTH SONG
Every day, having risen from a dream,
I thank warmly the god
For that during our times
The magicians are not a lot of
Besides -the honour and glory them! -
Our marriages are safety...
Their plans are not so terrible
To the husbands, maidens young.
But there are the others wizards,
Which are hated by me:
The smile, blue eyes
And a darling voice- oh friends!
Do not trust them: they are crafty!
Fear, imitating me,
Their delightful poison
And rest in the silence.
The poetry of the wonderful genius,
The singer of the mysterious images,
Of the love, dreams and devils,
Tombs and paradise the true inhabitant,
And of mine muses windy
The confidant, foster and the keeper!
Forgive to me, northern Orfey,
That in my amusing story
Now step to you I fly
And the lyre of a capricious muse
In the charming lie I will convict.
My friends, all of you have heard,
As to the demon in the ancient days the villain
Has betrayed himself from the grief at the first,
And there do-ed the souls of the daughters;
As after by the generous giving,
By the prayer, belief, and post,
And by the unfeigned repentance
Has got the defender in the sacred;
As he has died and as have fallen asleep
Him twelve daughters:
And us have captivated, have terrified
The pictures of the secret these nights,
These wonderful images,
This gloomy demon, this divine anger,
The live torments of the sinner
And the charm of the pure maidens.
We with them were cried, wandered
Round the gear walls of the tower,
And by the heart touched were loved
Their silent dream, their silent captivity;
by the soul were called Vadim,
And were ripened them wake up,
And frequently the sacred inoking
On the father coffin were trewed.
And it is well, possible is? . To us have lain!
Whether but the truth I will announce? .
Young Ratmir, righted to the south
The impatient run of the horse,
Thought before a decline of the day
To overtake the Ruslan spouse.
But the crimson day go evening;
In vain the hero before himself
In the distant fogs was looked:
All was empty over the river.
The dawn last beam burnt
Over the bright ingolden pine forest.
Our hero by the black rocks
Quietly was passed and by the look
The night-ing between a tree was searched.
On the valley he arrives
And sees: the tower on the rocks
The gear walls ennobles;
The towers on the corners blacken;
And the maiden on the high wall,
As in the sea a swan lonely,
Go, by a dawn she is shined;
And the maiden song is hardly audible
The valleys in the deep silence.
«The gloom night lays down in the field;
From the waves the cold wind has risen.
Late, the young traveller!
Take cover in the our pleasant tower.
Here at night the luxury and rest,
And in the afternoon both the noise and feast.
Come on the amicable calling,
Come, oh the young traveller!
At us you will find the beauties a plenty;
Them speeches and kissing are gentle.
Come on the secret calling,
Come, oh the young traveller!
To you we with a morning dawn
Let's fill a cup to the farewell.
Come on the peace calling,
Come, oh the young traveller!
The gloom night lays down in the field;
From the waves the cold wind has risen.
Late, the young traveller!
Take cover in our pleasant tower».
She attracts, she sings;
And the young khan is under the wall;
Him meet at the gate
The maidens by the red crowd;
At the noise of the tender speeches
He is surrounded; from him do not reduce
They of the captivating eyes;
Two maidens withdraw the horse;
The young khan enters into halls,
Behind him the anchoresses darlings plenty;
One remove the helmet winged,
Another do the shod armour,
That takes a sword, that do a dusty board;
The luxury clothes will replace
The iron armour of an abuse.
But before guide the young man
To the magnificent Russian bath.
The waves flow smoky
In her silver tubs,
And the cold fountains splashes;
The carpet is outspread by the luxury;
On it the tired khan lays down;
The transparent steam curls over it;
Dupmed the luxury full look,
The charming, seminude,
In the gentle and mute care,
Young maiden round the khan
Are restricted by the quick crowd.
Over the knight other waves
By the branches of the young birches,
And the fragrant heat from them ploughs;
Another by the juice of the vernal roses
Cools the tired members
And in aromas was sinked
The dark-curled hairs.
By the delight the hero intoxicated
Has already forgotten Lyudmila captured
Recently lovely beauty;
Pines by the delightful desire;
Him wandering look shines,
And full by the passionate waiting
He thaws by the heart, he burns.
But here he go out the bath.
Dressed in the velvet fabrics,
In the circle of the charming maidens, Ratmir
Sits down for the rich feast.
I am not Omer: in the high verses
He can sing along
The dinners of the Greek teams,
Both a ring, and foam of the deep bowls,
More lovely, on the traces Parny,
To me to glorify by the negligent lire
And the nakedness in a night shade,
And the kiss of the gentle love!
By the moon the tower is lighted up;
I see a tower kept away,
Where the hero is languid, inflamed
Tastes a lonely dream;
Him forehead, him cheeks
By the instant flame burn;
His lips are half-opened
The secret kissing attract;
He is passionate, slowly sighs,
He sees them and in the ardent dream
The covers to the heart presses.
But here in the deep silence
The door was opened; the jealous floor
Scratch under the hasty leg,
And under the silver moon
The maiden has flashed. The wing dreams,
Be hidden, fly away away!
Wake up - has come your night!
Wake up - impotent loss instant! .
He approaches, she lies
And dozes in the voluptuous luxury;
Him cover from a bed slides,
And the hot down is embraced the forehead.
In the silence the maiden before him
Costs motionlessly, lifeless,
As hypocritical Diana
Before the lovely pastor;
And here she, on the bed of the khan
By the one knee leaned,
Having sighed, the face to him declines
With the longuor, with the tremblingly live,
And the dream of the lucky person interrupts
By th kissing passionate and mute...
But, the friends, the virgin lyre
Has stopped under my hand;
My voice weakens is shyed -
Let's leave young Ratmir;
I do not dare to continue by the songs:
Ruslan should occupy us,
Ruslan, this hero unprecedented,
In the soul is the hero, the true lover.
By the persistent fight he is tired,
Under the powerful head
He delightful tastes a dream.
But here by the earlier dawn
The silent sky shines;
All is clear; the mornings playful beam
Do golden the heads shaggy forehead.
Ruslan stand up, and the zealous horse
Rushes the hero by an arrow.
And the days run; the fields turn yellow;
From the tree the decrepit leaf fall down;
In a woods the autumn wind whistle
To the singers feathery muffles;
The heavy, cloudy fog
To the nude hills twists;
The winter comes - Ruslan
Bravely continues own way
On the far north; with an every day
The new barriers meets:
So he fights with the athlete,
So with the witch, with a giant,
So in the moonlight night he sees,
As though through a magic dream,
The surrounded by a grey-haired fog,
Mermaids, silently on the branches
Shaking, to the young hero
With the artful smile on the lips
Attract, without a word...
But, by the secret craft the safed
Fearless hero is un-hurted;
In his soul the desire doze,
He them does not see, to they not listen,
One Lyudmila everywhere with him.
But meanwhile, by nobody the not seen,
From the attacks of the sorcerer
By the magic cap the safed,
What do my princess,
My fine Lyudmila?
She is silent and sad,
Alone walks on the gardens,
About the friend thinks and sighs,
Or, given a freedom to a dreams,
To the native Kiev fields
In the hearts forgeting she departs;
The father and brothers embraces,
She sees the young girl-friends
And own old mothers -
A captivity and apart are forgotten!
But soon the poor princess
Loses own mistake
And again is sad and alone.
The slaves of the enamoured villain,
Both a day and night, do not daring to sit,
Meanwhile on the tower, on a gardens
Were searched the charming captive,
Rushed about, loudly called,
However all on trifles.
Lyudmila them was amused:
In magic groves sometimes
Without a cap suddenly she was
And was clicked: «Here, here! »
And all rushed to her by the crowd;
But aside - she is hidden suddenly -
By the unlisten feet she was
Escaped from the predatory hands.
Everywhere hourly is noticed
Her minute traces:
That the ingolden fruits
On the noisy branches were disappeared,
That the spring water drops
On a meadow crumpled were falled:
Then likely in the tower the knowings are,
What is the princess drinks or eats.
On the cedar or birch branches
Disappearing at night, she was
Searched a dream for the minute -
But only shed the tears,
The spouse and rest was called,
Pined by the grief and yawn,
And it is rare, rare before the dawn,
Decline to the tree by the head,
Dozed by the thin somnolence;
Hardly the nights haze was thinned,
Lyudmila to falls went
To wash by the cold strew:
The carlic at the morning times
Once saw from the chambers,
As under the invisible arm
The waterfalls are splashed and strewed.
With the habutude blue
Till the new night, here and there,
She was wandered on the gardens:
Quite often towards evening the heard is
Her pleasant voice;
Quite often in the groves lifted
Or by she the thrown wreath,
Or the scraps of the Persian shawl,
Or the tear-stained scarf.
By the cruel passion the wounded,
By the annoy, rage the saddened,
The sorcerer has dared at last
To catch Lyudmila by all means.
So the Lemnos lame smith,
Pleasanted the matrimonial wreath
From the hands of charming Tsiterie,
Has stretched the seine to her beauties,
Having opened to the derisive gods
The Ciprid gentle inventions...
Missing, the poor princess
In a cool of the marble arbour
Sat silently near the window
And through the frequented branches
Was looked at the blossoming meadow.
Suddenly hears - call: «Dear friend! »
And sees true Ruslan.
Him lines, gait, and camp;
But he is pale, in the eyes a fog,
And on a hip an open wound -
In her the heart has trembled. «Ruslan!
Ruslan! . He is exact! »And by the arrow
To the spouse the captive flies,
In a tears, trembling, speaks:
«You here... You are wounded... What is with you? »
She has already reached, has embraced:
Oh the horror... The phantom disappears!
The princess in the seines; from her forehead
On the earth a cap fall.
Cooled she hears the terrible shout:
«She mine! » - and at the very same time
See the sorcerer before the eyes.
The maidens pity groan was distributed,
Will fall unconscious - and the marvellous dream
Was embraced the unfortunate by the winds.
What will be with the poor princess!
Oh the terrible kind: the wizard sickly
Caresses by the impudent hand
Lyudmila's young delights!
He will be really happy?
Chu... The ring of the horn was distributed suddenly,
And someone causes the carlic.
In the weary, the pale magician
On the maiden a cap puts on;
Blow again; more sounded, sounded!
And he flies to an unknown meeting,
Having thrown the beard for the shoulders.
THE FIFTH SONG
Ah so is darling my princess!
To me her customs of all are expensive:
She is sensitive, modest,
To the matrimonial love she right is,
A little bit windy... So?
Even more lovely by that she is.
Hourly by the new charming
She is able to captivate us;
Tell: whether it is possible to compare
Her with severe Delfira?
To one - the destiny has sent the gift
To charm the looks and hearts;
Her smile, the conversations
In me give rise the love heat.
And that is under the skirt the hussar,
Only give to it the moustaches yes spurs!
One is blissful, whom under the evening
In the lonely corner
My Lyudmila waits
And names by the friend of heart;
But, trust me, that is blissful also,
Who escapes from Delfira
And even with her is unfamiliar.
Yes, however, the matter not about that!
But who blew? Who the magician
Was caused on the horror cuttle?
Who has frightened the sorcerer?
Ruslan. He, burning by the revenge,
Came to the shelter of the villain.
The hero at the foot of a hill stand,
The invocatory horn as the storm, howl,
The impatient horse boils
And digs a snow by the cane hoof.
The prince waits carlic. Suddenly
On the helmet of the strong steel
By hand hidden he is defeated;
Th punch has fallen like a thunder;
Ruslan do up the vague look
And sees - directly over the head -
With the get up, terrible bowl
Carlic Chernomor flies.
By the board covered he has bow down,
By the sword he has shaken and amplified;
But that has risen under a clouds;
For an instant vanish- and by haught down
Rustling he flies on the prince again.
The fasten hero has flown away,
And in the snow from the fatal ample
The sorcerer has fallen - yes there and sit;
Ruslan, do not tell a word,
From the horse down, to him hastens,
Has caught, for the beard catched,
The wizard endeavours, groans
And suddenly with Ruslan flied...
The zealous horse looks by the step;
Already the sorcerer under the clouds;
On the beard the hero hangs;
Fly over the gloomy woods,
Fly over the wild mountains,
Fly over the sea bottomless;
From the stress growing stiff,
Ruslan for the beard of the villain
Keep by the persistent hand.
Meanwhile, on air weakening
And to force russian amazing,
The wizard to proud Ruslan
Artfully says: «Listen, the prince!
To harm you I will cease;
Young courage loving,
I will forget everything, I will forgive you,
I will go down - but only with the proviso...»
«Be silent, the sur-ful magician! -
Our hero has ruptured: - with Chernomor,
With the torturer of the wife,
Ruslan does not know a contract!
This terrible sword will punish the thief.
Fly though to a night star,
And to be to you without a beard! »
The fear in-ful Chernomor;
In the annoy, in the mute sorrow,
In vain by the long beard
The tired carlic shakes:
Ruslan does not let out her
And burns the hair at times.
Two days the sorcerer of the hero carries,
On third he asks a forgive:
«Oh the knight, take pity over me;
Hardly I breathe; there is no cane more;
Rest to me a life, in yours will I am;
Tell - I came down, where you order...»
«Now you are ours: aha, you shiver!
Reconcile, submit to russian force!
Bear me to my Lyudmila ».
Submissively Chernomor listen;
Home he with the hero was started up;
Flies - and by has come to be
Among the horror mountains.
Then Ruslan by one arm
Took the sword of the struck head
And, seized the beard by other,
He has cuted as a grass handy.
«Know ours! - he said cruelly, -
What is, a predator, where is your beauty?
Where is a force? »- and on a high helmet
He knit the eshed hair;
Whistling calls the horse dashing;
The cheerful horse flies and neighs;
Our hero hardly do the live carlic
Putting in the roll for a saddle,
And himself, being afraid an instant of expend,
Hastens on the top of the abrupt mountain,
Has got, and with the joyful soul
Flies to the magic chambers.
In the distance seen a beard helmet,
The pledge of a fatal victory,
Before it the arabs of the wonderful plenty,
The crowds of the timid slaves,
As the phantoms, from the all sides
Runs - and have disappeared. He goes
One among the pride temples,
Calls the darling spouse -
Only an echo of the silent arches
Submits the voice to Ruslan;
In the tremble of the impatient feelings
He open the doors in the garden -
Goes, goes - and does not find;
Around lead the confused look round -
All is dead: the bosks are silent,
The arbours are empty; on the currents,
Along the stream coast, in the valleys,
Anywhere Lyudmila trace is not present,
And an ear listen nothing.
Sudden the cool fill up the prince,
In her eyes a light darkens,
In the mind the thoughts have arisen gloomy...
«Perhaps, sorrow... A captivity gloomy...
Minute... Waves... »In these dreams
He is shipped. With the mute blew
The hero done bow by the head;
The involuntary fear wearies him;
He is immove, as a dead stone;
The darked reason; the wild blame
And the poison of the desperate love
Already flow in him blood.
It seemed - a shade of the fine princess
Has slip-ed the quivering lips...
And suddenly the violent, awful,
Hero aspires on the gardens;
Lyudmila with a cry calls,
From the hills thorn the rocks,
All rush, all destroys by the sword -
The arbours, groves are fallen,
The trees, bridges in the waves dive,
The steppe is bared around!
Far the roar repeat
Both the roar both the crash both the noise and the thunder;
Everywhere the sword rings and whistle,
The charming edge is devasted -
The mad hero searches a victim,
From tha ample to the right, to the left he
Dissects the deserted air...
And suddenly - the unintentional impact
From the invisible princes fall down
The farewell Chernomor gift...
The magics force has in a moment disappeared:
In the seines Lyudmila has opened!
Do not trust to own eyes,
By the unexpected happiness intoxicated,
Our hero falls to the feet
Of the true, unforgettable girlfriends,
Kisses the hands, tears the seines,
Pours the tears of the love, delight tear pours,
Calls her is but the maiden dozes,
The eyes and lips are closed,
And the voluptuous dream
Move up her young breast.
Ruslan from her does not reduct the eyes,
He is tormented again the sorrow...
But suddenly hears the acquaintance voice,
Voice of the good-maked Finn:
«Take heart, the prince! In the back way
Go with the sleep Lyudmila;
Fill the heart by the new force,
The love and honour be true.
The heavenly thunder on a rage will burst,
And the silence will be established -
And in light Kiev the princess
Before Vladimir will rise
From the fascinated dream ».
Ruslan, by this voice, revival
Take in the embraces the wife,
And silently with the precious burden
He leaves the height
And descends in the lonely dale.
In the silent, with the carlic behind the saddle,
He has gone by own way;
In his hands Lyudmila lies,
Is fresh, as a vernal dawn,
And on the shoulder of the athlete
The quiet face has inclined.
By the hair twisted in a ring,
The deserted breez-let plays;
As frequent her breast sighs!
As often the silent face
By the instant rose flares!
The love and secret dream
Bring to her the Ruslan image,
And with the languid whisper the lips
Say the spouse name...
In the sweet forgetting he catches
Her magic breathing,
The smile, tears, gentle groan
And the sleepy persy waving...
Meanwhile, on the dales, on the mountains,
And in the white day, and at the night,
Our hero goes incessantly.
The limit desired is still far,
And the maiden sleeps. But the young prince,
For the fruitless flame, pining
Neither, the sufferer constant,
Was guarded the spouse only
And in the chaste dream,
Having restrained the immodest desire,
The pleasure he found?
The monk, who has kept
To the posterity the true legend
About nice my hero,
Assures us surely in that:
And I trust! Without the dividing
The sweet-ing is sad and rough:
We right are happy together.
The shepherdesses, the dream of the charming princess
Did not like your dreams,
By the time of the painful spring,
On the grass, in the wood shade.
I remember the small meadow
Among the birch oak grove,
I remember the dark evening,
I remember the Lida lane dream...
Ah, the first kiss of the love,
The shivering, easy, hasty,
Has not dispersed, my friends,
Her patient somnolence...
But fully, I talk a rubbish!
To what is the love remember?
Her joy and suffer
Are forgotten by me for a long time;
Now attract mine attention
The princess, Ruslan and Chernomor.
Before them the plain laid,
Where the fur-trees rare been up;
And of the terrible hill in the distance
The round top blackens
Of the heavens on the bright blue.
Ruslan looks - and has guessed,
That approaches to the head;
Faster the fleet horse has rushed;
The miracle from miracles is visible;
She looks by the motionless eye;
Her hairs are as the black wood,
Growned on the forehead high;
The cheeks are deprived a life,
By the lead pallor are covered;
The huge lips are opened,
The huge teeth are constrained...
Over the half-dead head
The last day is gravitated.
To her the brave hero has arrived
With Lyudmila, with carlic for the back.
He has shouted: «Hallo, a head!
I am here! Your traitor is punished!
Look: here he, the villain is our captive! »
And the prince proud words
Her have suddenly revived,
For an instant in her the feeling have woken,
Has regained as from a dream,
Has looked, has terribly moaned...
She has knowed the hero
And with the horror has know the brother.
The nostrils were inflated; on the cheeks
The crimson fire still was born,
And in the dying eyes
The last anger was represented.
In weary, in the mute furiousness
She was gnashed by the teeth
And to the brother by the cold language
The reproach muffled was murmured...
Already at that o'clock
Came to the end her long suffer:
The foreheads instant fire is ashed,
Weakened the heavy breathing,
The huge look was dawned,
And soon the prince and Chernomor
Have beheld the death shudder...
She has gone to the eternal rest.
In the silent the hero has left;
The shivering dwarf behind a saddle
Is not dared to breathe, did not move
And by the black book language
Assiduously to the demons was prayed.
On the slope of the dark coast
Any small anonymous river,
In the cool twilight of the woods,
There was the hung hut a shelter,
By the dense pines whreath-ed.
In the slow stream the river
Near the wattle fence of a reed
By the sleepy wave was washed
And round it hardly murmured
At a little breeze noise.
The valley in these places was concealed,
Is lonely and dark;
And there, it seemed, the silence
From the beginning world was established.
Ruslan has stopped the horse.
All was silent, serene;
From the dawning day
The valley with the coastal grove
Through the morning smoke shone.
Ruslan on the meadow compose the wife,
Sits down near her, sighs
With the sweet and mute sad;
And suddenly he sees before himself
The restrained sail of a shuttle
And hears a song of the fisherman
Over the slow-strewed river.
Having stretched the seine on the waves,
The fisherman inclined on the oars
Floats to the woody coast,
To the threshold of the hut restrained.
And the kind prince Ruslan sees:
The shuttle to the coast floats;
From a dark hut the young maiden
Runs out; the harmonous camp,
The hairs are free negligent,
The smile, silent look of the eyes,
Both the breast and shoulders are nude,
All is lovely, all captivates in her.
And here they, having embraced each other,
Sit down at the cool waters,
And the hour of the careless leisure
For them with the love comes.
But in the silent amazing
Whom in the happy fisherman
Our young hero is knowed?
The Hazaria khan is selected by the glory,
Ratmir, in the love, in the bloody war
Her contender young,
Ratmir in the serene desert
has forgotten Lyudmila, glory
And to them forever has changed
In the embraces of the gentle girlfriend.
The hero arrived, and in a moment
The eremite is knowed Ruslan,
Stands, flies. The shout was distributed...
And the prince has embraced the young khan.
«What do I see? - The hero has asked, -
Why you are here, why have left
The alarms of the fighting life
And the sword which you have glorified? »
«My friend, - replied the fisherman, -
To soul has bored the abusive glory
Empty and disastrous phantom.
Believe: the innocent entertainments,
The love and peace oak groves
More lovely to the heart a hundred times.
Now, having lost the thirst of the abuse,
Stops to pay to the madness of a tribute,
And, by the true happiness riched,
I have forgotten all, a companion darling,
Everything, even Lyudmila's delights ».
«The kind khan, I am very glad! -
Ruslan, - she is with me «has told.
«Whether it is possible, what is the destiny?
What is I hear? Russian princess...
She with you, where is she?
Allow... But is not present, I am afraid the change;
My friend to me is lovely;
To my happy change
She was the culprit;
She is to me the life, she is to me the pleasure!
She has returned to me again
My lost youth,
Both the world and pure love.
The happiness to me is promised in vain
The lips of the magicians young;
The twelve maidens was loved me:
For her I have left them;
Has left their tower cheerful,
In a shade the safe oak groves;
Has stored both a sword and a helmet heavy,
Has forgotten both a glory and enemies.
The eremite is peace and unknown,
Remained in a happy solitude,
With you, the friend darling, the friend charming,
With you, the light of my soul! »
The shepherdess darling was listened
The friends open talking
And directed on the khan the look
And was smiled and sighed.
The fisherman and the hero on the coasts
Till the dark night have sit
With the soul and heart on the lips -
A hours are invisible flied.
The wood blackens, the mountain is dark;
There is a moon - all became silent;
In a way for a long time it is time to the hero.
Having throw the blanket silently
On the maiden sleeping, Ruslan
Goes and on a horse sits down;
Thoughtfully the silent khan
By the soul after him aspires,
To Ruslan the happinesses, victories,
Both the glories, and love wishes...
And the thoughts of the proud, young years
By the involuntary grief recovers...
Why the destiny is not fated
To my changeable lyre
The heroism to sing alone
And with it (not known in the world)
The love and friendship of the old years?
The sad true poet,
Why I should for the posterity
The defect and rage to bare
And the secrets of the perfidy intrigues
Of the truthful songs to convict?
To the princess the searcher unworthy,
The hunting to the glory having lost,
The nobody known Farlaf
In the distant and quiet desert
Was hided and has wait Naina.
And the solemn hour has come.
To him the magician was
Prophetic: «whether you know me?
Go for me; saddle a horse! »
And the witch by a cat has turned;
The horse is saddled, she was started up;
By the tracks gloomy of the oak groves
Farlaf is followed her.
The valley was silent dozed,
Dressed in the night fog,
The moon in a haze ran across
From a cloud in a cloud and the barrow
By the instant shine was lighted up.
Under it in the silence Ruslan
Sat with the usual blue
Before the asleeped princess.
A deep thought he thought,
The dreams flied by dreams,
And imperceptibly the dream blew
Over him by the cold winds.
On the maiden by the vague eyes
In a languid somnolence he has looked
And, by the weared head,
Declined to her feet, has fallen asleep.
And the prophetic dream dreams the hero:
He sees, as so the princess
Over the terrible chasm by the depth
Stay is motionless and pale...
And suddenly Lyudmila disappears,
There is one over a chasm he...
The familiar voice, invocatory groan
From a silent chasm flies out...
Ruslan aspires for the wife;
Headlong flies in the darkness deep...
And sees suddenly before itself:
Vladimir, in the high house,
In the circle of the grey-haired athletes,
Between the twelve sons,
With the crowd of the named visitors
Sits for the abused tables.
And as the old prince is angry,
As in horror day of the apart,
And all sit not moving,
Not daring to rupt a silence.
The cheerful noise of visitors has ceased,
The circular bowl does not go...
And he sees among the visitors
In the fight strucked Rogday:
The killed as live sits;
From the foamed glass
He, oars, drinks and does not look
On the amazed Ruslan.
The prince sees and the young khan,
The friends and foes... And suddenly
The fluent sound was distributed a psaltery
And the voice of prophetic Bayan,
Of the singer of a heroes and joyments.
Farlaf enters in the house,
He by hand leads Lyudmila;
But the aged man, from a place not standed,
Is silent, having inclined the blue head,
The princes, boyars - all are silent,
Cut the sincere movements.
And all has disappeared -the mortal cool
Hold the sleeping hero.
In a somnolence he is heavy shipped,
He pours the painful tears,
In the weary thinks: it is a dream!
Pines, but the ominous dream,
Alas, to interrupt he not is in forces.
The moon hardly shines over the mountain;
The groves are filled by the dark,
The valley in the dead silence...
The traitor going on the horse.
Before him the glade has opened;
He sees the gloomy barrow;
At Lyudmila's feet Ruslan sleeps,
And the horse go around the hill.
Farlaf with the fear looks;
In a fog the witch disappears,
In him the heart has stood, shivers,
From the cold hands a bridle he drops,
Quietly bares a sword,
Preparing the hero without the fight
By the move up in two to cut...
To him has approached. A horse of the hero,
The enemy fealing, has begun to boil,
Has begun to neigh and has stamped. A sign in vain!
Ruslan not listen; a horror dream,
As a cargo, over him weighted! .
The traitor by a witch encouraged,
To the hero in the breast by the hand disdained
Sticks three times the cold steel...
And rushes timidly afar
With the extraction precious.
All night long insensible Ruslan
Lay in a gloom under the mountain.
The hours were flied. The blood by a river
Flew from the inflamed wounds.
In the morning, a foggy look having opened,
Starting up the heavy, weak groan,
With the forcing he has risen,
Has looked, has hung by the abusive head -
And has fallen motionless, lifeless.
THE SIXTH SONG
You to me order, oh my gentle friend,
On the easy and negligent lyre
The ancient be to sing
And to the true muse to devote
The hours of the invaluable leisure...
You know, the lovely girlfriend:
Abused with a windy rumour,
Your friend by the pleasure intoxicated
Has forgot and the work lonely,
And the sounds of the darling lyre.
From a harmonious enjoyment
I am intoxicated by the luxury, have weaned...
I breathe you - and of the proud glory
It is muffled to me the invocatory cliques!
I was left by the secret genius
And of the fictions and of the sweet thoughts;
The love and thirst of the pleasures
Alone pursue my mind.
But you order, but you was loved
The former stories mine,
The legend of the love and glory;
My athlete, my Lyudmila,
Vladimir, the witch, Chernomor
And the Finn true grieves
Yours dreamings were occupied;
You, listening to my easy nonsense,
With a smile sometimes was dozed;
But sometimes the gentle look
More gently on the singer threw...
I will dare: the enamoured chatterer,
I slip again the lazy strings;
I sit down at your feet and again
I jingle about the hero young.
But what I have told? Where is Ruslan?
He lies dead in the open country:
Now him blood does not flow more,
Over him the greedy raven flies,
The horn is silent, an armour is motionless,
The helmet shaggy does not move!
Round Ruslan the horse goes,
Having hung by the proud head,
In his eyes the fire has disappeared!
Does not wave by the golden mane,
Does not play, it does not ride
And waits, when Ruslan will rise...
But the prince cold dream is strong,
And long him board will not burst.
And Chernomor? He is behind a saddle,
In the roll, forgotten by the witch,
Yet does not know anything;
The tired, sleepy and angry
To the princess, my hero
Was scolded in the boredom silently;
Not hearing long anything,
The wizard has looked out - oh a miracle!
He sees, the athlete is killed;
In the blood the sunk lies;
Lyudmila are not, all is empty in the field;
The villain for the pleasure shivers
And thinks: has come true, I am at a liberty!
But the old carlic was wrong.
Meanwhile, by Naina dawned,
With Lyudmila silently lulled,
Farlaf aspires to Kiev:
Flies full the hopes, fear;
Before him already the Dnepr waves
In the familiar pastures rustles;
Sees golden-upper hailstones;
Already Farlaf on the hailstones rushes,
And the noise on the stogny rises;
In the joyful waving the people
Brings down for the horseman, are restricted;
Run to please the father:
And here the traitor is at the porch.
Dragging in the soul the grief burden,
Vladimir-sun at that time
In own high tower
Sat, pining for a habitual thought.
The boyars, heroes around
Sat with the gloomy pompous.
Suddenly he listen: before the porch
The wavingе, shouts, the wonderful noise;
The door was opened; before him
The unknown warrior was;
All have risen with the whisper deaf-ly
And suddenly were confused, have rustled:
«Lyudmila here! Farlaf... Really? »
In the sad face changing,
The old prince stand up from a chair,
Hastens by the heavy stumps
To the unfortunate own daughter,
Approaches; by the paternal hands
He wants to touch her;
But the maiden darling is not listen,
And fascinated dozes
In the hands of the murderer - all look
On the prince in the vague waiting;
And the aged man an un-quetly sight
Has fixed on the hero in the silence.
But, artfully the finger to the lips having pressed,
«Lyudmila sleeps, - Farlaf has told, -
I so have found her recently
In the deserted Murom woods
At the malicious leshy in the hands;
There nicely the matter was made;
Three days we fought; the moon
Over the fight rose three times;
He has fallen, and the young princess
To me in the hands by the asleep has got;
And who will interrupt this marvellous dream?
When will come an awakening?
I do not know - the law of the destiny is hidden!
And to us the hope and patience
Ones were remained in the concolation ».
And soon with a message fatal
The rumour on the hailstones has departed;
Of the people by the motley crowd
The town area has begun to boil;
The sad tower to all is opened;
The crowd worries, brings down
There, where on a high bed,
On a brocade blanket
The princess lies in the deep sleep;
The princes and heroes around
Stand are sad; the voices piped,
The horns, timpans, a psaltery, tambourines
Rattle over her; the old prince,
By the melancholy heavy pinned,
To Lyudmila's feet by the grey hairs
Has nestled with the silent tears;
And near him pale Farlaf,
In the mute repentance, in the annoy
Trembles, the impudence having lost.
The night has come. Anybody in the hailstones
The sleepless eyes did not close
Rustling, were restricted all to each other:
Everyone interpreted a miracle;
The young spouse about the spouse
In a modest top room forgot.
But only the light of the moon two-horned
Has disappeared before the morning dawn,
All Kiev by the new alarm
Was confused! The cliques, noise and howl
Have arisen everywhere. The inhabitants of Kiev
Are crowded on the town wall...
And see: in the morning fog
The tents grow white behind the river;
The boards as a glow shine,
In fields equestrians flashes,
In the distance lifted the black ashes;
There are marching the carts,
The fires flare on the hills.
The trouble: the pechenegs were revolted!
But at this time the prophetic Finn,
The spirits mighty lord,
In own serene desert,
With the quiet heart was expected,
That the day of the destiny inevitable,
For a long time unpropheted, has risen.
In a mute solitude of the steppes combustible
Behind a distant chain of the wild mountains,
The dwellings of a winds, storms rattling,
Where also the witches courageous look
To get at late o'clock is afraid,
The valley wonderful is concealed,
And in that valley the two keys:
One flows by the live wave,
On the stones cheerfully murmuring,
That flows by the dead water;
Around all is silent, the winds sleep,
The cool vernal does not blow,
The century pines do not rustle,
The birds are not twisted, the fallow deer does not dare
In the summer heat to drink from the secret waters;
The couple of the spirits from the beginning of the world,
Silent on the bosom of the world,
Guards the dense coast...
With the two jugs empty
The eremite before them has appeared;
The spirits have interrupted an old dream
And have left full a fear.
Having inclined, he immerses
The vessels in the virgin waves;
Has filled, in air was gone
And has come to be during the two instants
In the valley where Ruslan lay
In the blood, the silent, without a movement;
And there was over the knight an old man,
And was sprinkled by the dead water,
And the wounds have begun to shine in a moment,
And the corpse by the wonderful beauty
Was blossomed; then by the live water
The aged man has sprinkled the hero,
And the vigorous, full of a new forces,
Trembling by the young life,
There is rise Ruslan, for the clear day
By the eyes greedy looks,
As an ugly dream, as a shade,
Before him the past flashes.
But where is Lyudmila? He is one!
In him the heart, having flashed, fades.
Suddenly the hero rose up; the prophetic Finn
Him calls and embraces:
'The destiny has come true, oh my son!
The pleasure expects you;
The bloody feast is called you;
Your terrible sword will burst by the trouble;
To Kiev the mild world scend,
And there to you she will appear.
Take the treasured ring,
Touch its a forehead of Lyudmila,
And the secret charms forces will disappear,
The enemies will be confused your face,
The peace will come, the rage will be lost.
Both be worthy the happiness!
Forgive for a long time, my hero!
Give a hand... There, behind the coffin door -
No before - we will see you! »
Has told, gone away. Intoxicated
By the ardent and mute delight,
Ruslan, for the life wake up,
Was lifted the arm after him.
But nothing more is audible!
Ruslan one in a deserted field;
Having begun to jump, with the carlic behind the saddle,
The Ruslan impatient horse
Runs and neighs, waving a mane;
The prince is ready, now he ridle,
Now he flies live and sensible
Through the fields, through the oak groves.
But meanwhile what the shame
Shows Kiev besieged?
There having directed on the yields the look,
The people by the sad amazed
Stands on the towers and walls
And in the fear waits for the heavenly execution;
The shy groan in the houses,
On the stogny the silence of a fear;
One, near own daughter,
Vladimir in a sad prayer;
And the brave assembly of the athletes
With the right team of the princes
Prepares for the bloody fight.
And the day has come. The crowds of the enemies
With the dawn have moved from the hills;
The unrestrained teams,
Wearying, have rushed from plain
And have begun to flow to the wall town;
In the hailstones the pipe have rung out,
The fighters were closed, have flied
Towards to a host daring,
Have converged - and the fight was ready.
Fealing the death, the horses have leapt,
Have gone to knock the swords about the board;
With the whistle the cloud of the arrows has up,
The plain was filled by the blood;
Headlong the equestrians have rushed,
The horse teams have mixed up;
By the closed, friendy wall
There the rang has cuted with a rang;
There the pedestrian fights with the horseman;
There the horse scared rushes;
There are the fight cliques, there is the runaway;
There the russian has fallen, there is pecheneg;
That will overturn by the bowl;
That is defeat by easy arrow;
Another, pressed down by a board,
Is crushed by a mad horse...
And the fight till dark night was lasted;
Neither the enemy, nor the our has not overcome!
Behind the heaps of the bloody bodies
The fighters have closed the pinned eyes,
And their abusive dream was strong;
Only occasionally in the field of the fight
The fallen mournful groan was audible
And the russian heroes prayer.
The morning shade turned pale,
The wave was silvered in the stream,
The doubtful day was born
On the fog-ed east.
The sun shone the hills and woods,
And the heavens woke up.
Still in unmoved rest
The field fighting was dozed;
Suddenly the dream has interrupted: the enemy camp
With the alarm noisy has risen,
Sudden the shout of the battles has burst;
The heart of the Kiev inhabitants was confused;
Runs by the dissonant crowds
And see: in the field between the enemies,
Shining in the armour, as on the fire,
The wonderful soldier on the horse
By the thunder-storm rushes, pricks, cuts,
In the roaring horn, flying, blows...
That Ruslan was. As the divine thunder,
Our hero has fallen on the basurman;
He searche with the carlic behind a saddle
Among the scared camp.
Where a terrible sword whisper,
Where the horse angry will not fly,
Everywhere the heads falls from the shoulders
And with a cry the rang on a rang rolls;
During one instant the abusive meadow
It is covered by the hills of the bodies bloody,
Live, crushed, headless,
The bulk of the pikes, arrows, chain armours.
On a blare sound, on a fight voice
The horse teams of the slavans
Have rushed off on the traces of the hero,
Have battled... Die, basurman!
Volumed the horror of the pecheneg;
The rough pets of the attacks
Calls the absent-minded horses,
Do not dare to oppose more
And with the wild cry in the dusty field
Run from the Kiev swords,
Are doomed to a victim of a hell;
The russian sword executes their assemblies;
Kiev exults... But on the hailstones
The mighty athlete fly;
In a right hand holds the sword victorious;
The spear shines as a star;
The blood from a chain armour copper streams;
On the helmet the beard is twisted;
Flies, by the hope winged,
On the stogny noisy in the prince house.
The people, by the delight intoxicated,
Crowds with the cliques around,
And the pleasure has revived the prince.
He enters into the silent tower,
Where Lyudmila dozes by the wonderful dream;
Vladimir, shipped in a thought,
At the feet has stand a sad.
He was one. Him friends
The war was attracted in the fields bloody.
But with him Farlaf, avoiding a glory,
Far from the enemy swords,
In the soul having disdained the alarms of the camp,
Was on the guard at the doors.
Hardly the villain has know Ruslan,
In him the blood has cooled down, the look has gone out,
In lips opened the voice has stood,
And he has fallen unconscious on a knee...
The change is waited the worthy execution!
But, remembering the secret gift of the ring,
Руслан flies to Lyudmila sleeping,
Her quiet face
Touchs by the hand shivering...
And the miracle: the young princess,
Having sighed, has opened the light eyes!
It seemed, as so she
Was marvelled to the so long night;
It seemed that any dream
Was wearied her by the dream not clear,
And has suddenly know that is he!
And the prince in the embraces of the fine.
Having revived by the ardent soul,
Ruslan does not see, does not listen,
And the aged man in the mute pleasure,
Sobbing, embraces the darling.
Than I will terminate my long story?
You will guess, the friend my darling!
The wrong anger of the aged man has gone out;
Farlaf before him and before Lyudmila
At the feet of Ruslan was declared
Own shame and the gloomy villainy;
The happy prince has forgiven to him;
Deprived the force of the charming do,
The carlic has been accepted in the palace;
And, celebrating the disasters end,
Vladimir in the high house
Was feasted in own family.
The affairs of the gone days,
The deep legend of the olden time.
So, the world the indifferent inhabitant,
On the bosom of the idle silence,
I am glorified by the obedient lyre
The legend of the dark olden time.
I sang - and forgot the offences
Of the blind happiness and enemies,
The changes of windy Dorida
And the gossips noisy of the fools.
On the fiction wings beared,
The mind departed for the edge terrestrial;
And meanwhile the thunder-storms hidden
Cloud was buried over me! .
I doom... The sacred keeper
Of the initial, rough days,
Oh the friendship, the gentle consoler
Of painful my soul!
You have begged the bad weather;
You have returned to the heart the world;
You have kept to me the freedom,
The boiling youth idol!
Forgotten by the light and rumor,
Far from the Neva coast,
Now I see before myself
The caucasus proud heads.
Over their abrupt tops,
On the slope of the stone currents,
I eat by mute feelings
And a wonderful charm of the pictures
The nature wild and gloomy;
The soul, as before, each hour
Is full by the lanquit thought -
But the poetry fire has gone out.
I search in vain the impressions:
It has passed, it is time of the verses,
It is time to the love, the cheerful dreams,
It is time of the warm embreathing!
The delights short day has leaked -
And has disappeared from me forever
The goddess of the silent church chanting...
Comments about Ruslan And Lydmila A.S. Pushkin by Yuri Starostin
Poems About Hero
- 1. Ruslan And Lydmila A.S. Pushkin , Yuri Starostin
- 2. The Kalevala - Rune Xxvi , Elias Lönnrot
- 3. The Kalevala - Rune Xxix , Elias Lönnrot
- 4. The Kalevala - Rune Xiv , Elias Lönnrot
- 5. The Lake Shows All , jax col
- 6. Hero And Leander. The Fourth Sestiad , George Chapman
- 7. A Hero , Martin Kathavi
- 8. The Quintet Of Revelations , Alex Fischer
- 9. Firebreather , Katie Diaz
- 10. Labyrinth , Juna Razan
- 11. The Kalevala - Rune Xii , Elias Lönnrot
- 12. The Kalevala - Rune Xxviii , Elias Lönnrot
- 13. Hero , christy michale
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