The Ballad On The Wolfhound, On The Horse And On The Young Berg Girl For The Name Aishat By Rasul Gamzatov Poem by Yuri Starostin

The ballad on the wolfhound, on the horse and on the young berg girl for the name Aishat

Over the precipice, where the foam shafts
Koisu granulate, to explode evilly
The two boulders, the two rocks,
The two sculptures I saw once.

One is widely deploying the wing,
Is flat over the abyss by an eagle...
An eagle female? ! No, the girl was,
The one which is the bride remained forever.

The figure of the wolfhound and of the horse
The second block - in the sparkles of the water dust...
I sit supported the cheek.
Like an elders, the rocks surrounded me.

And I heard.
- Many years ago
Lived Mohammed is a poet, the well- known in the mountains.
He was loved the beauty Aishat
And finally called her a bride.

On the nearest thursday -we have the going rumor -
A wife the young bride will be...
The guests the messengers are calling from the surrounding villages,
Sweeping the paths by the burka.

But on Wednesday morning, when the dawn
Made golden the tops by the mighty brush,
When, as a watermelon juice, the red color
Sprinkled generously and a gardens and a steep slope

We saw: the farther, the close
Fires signal tongues soar up,
Crossed the distance by the smoke...
Their seen, say, and in Georgia.

The alarm fires — is not a good sign!
He proclaimed that by the wild horde
The sworn enemy moves to us in the mountains...
«Sharp the swords! Get ready to the buttle!

Avarian, confirm that you're not a coward!
The danger you accept not quailing,
Famously you curl the mustache,
To brave by yours boldness! ..»

Anyone which has ever weapon held,
Which tightened the corp, by the type-setting belt,
Checked the sword, buckled the dagger,
And - on a horse, forward, on the paths of the mountain! ..

The bride waiting at the hearth in vain.
Come thursday. But do not come a news.
And the wedding sweetest honey in the world
No one has to offer to the grief bride.

A gorges the sound of a zurna do not woken,
And a drums do not strewed a fraction.
The carpets, that woven only for the wedding,
The native men do not spread in the yard.

Its howls — zurna-ers do not play,
The dancers do not dance on the field of the battle...
And like a spring keys,
The wound oozing in Choha, on the glade...

The circassian, the wolfhound and the horse
Ashug left to him dove girl:
«Yes do not know a fateful day,
When it can be useful to her! »

«My darling! said.- Hope! Wait!
But, if the enemy come in the aul, exulting,
You're on the high rock come up,
And I see the gold braid...»

Time to time it is not see an enemy:
The distance from us to the Chokha is not to take by the hand,
But the bride does not find a rest
In a peaceful sacla near the hearth.

«What is happened with him now? .. Maybe a death over him..? »
And here she grieve unbearable,
Go up on the rock... Ashug saw the hairs of the darling
Through the distance and the smoke, .

He rushes to her... The eagles are circling at the top,
Bring the evil news from the fields of the battle...
«Tell me, darling, tell me, Aishat,
What is happened, darling, with you? »

«Nothing is happened with me.
But I'm one. I'm scared. It is offend to me.
When become our triumph in? !
Tell me, the war is seems to have no end? ! »

«My darling! There, on the fields of war,
My friends fight without a fear.
The surrounding villages are burned
By the horde of the wild villain shah.

The terrible time came,
They lead the mountain girls in the bondage.
The green grass is red-redden
By the righteous men blood on the Chokh field.

Native! Cover your hair,
To fly not me here more! ..
As soon as we will win the Horde,
The thursday desired of the wedding came ».


So he said. And he look lightly,
And the saber is glistening in his hand...
Like a bird he flew up in the saddle
And now he is far away from the village.


Thursday for Thursday running- go hurry,
But the news are not hurry on the mountain slopes.
Aishat- girl tears the close collar,
The buttons flying on the earth with the bells...


The wolfhound burst by the menacing bark,
The mighty horse neighing
Are sounded by the alarm over the land
2. In the night, long time before the coming of the day.

They tearing the gate and break the door...
The cry hear: ' Open to us immediately,
Stand up! Isn't time to sleep now,
Because the groom is killed by the arrow of the enemy!

The bride screamed outside the window,
Grabbed, poor, for the heart.
Looking...One by one the persians climb, climb
To the courtyard through the breach...

...Then, wearing a chercaska of the groom,
Taking the sword, that attained the glory to the father,
Aishat - in the saddle... She flies, is slim, is valiant,
And calls whistling the wolfhound...

The horse on the mountains by a gallop- on the rock,
Yes, see the darling gold of the hair!
...And he saw: her spit shines
3. Through the wisps of a smoke, through the space and through the gloom...

He saw, cause he was not killed,
Although the wound was yawning in his chest,
He thought: «my darling forgive,
I explain to her earlier or later».

The villain ordered - Persian Shah:
«The bride to capture! ..
It is not lucky to the bride! » -
As a cats the persians crawled up in the mountains!
But to do not break them our berg honor!

As the wolves the enemies run up to her,
Having crept on the path in the deep night.
But the wolfhound pursue from the rocks -
And the pants flew to a pieces!

Aishat! Do not avoid the fate to you!
The enemies press out... They are near you! ..
But the proud horse stand up on the hind legs -
And the persians slipped by the hail from our mountains!

The dashing bulat shone in Aishat arm
The sword is glittering, as a gold precisely,
And the stones were falling from the cliffs
Sweeping away the uninvited guests from the way.

Grinded their bones in the sand,
Standing up on the hind legs, the mountain streams have,
The trees are surrounding the stream,
Tears from the places, engages in the cruel fight.

Though there was not among the Persians anyone
Which is to distinguish by a courage and a honor,
But so their number was great! ..
Not cope the bride alone with the Horde!

The circle is more narrow under the acute rock...
The curves swords shine poisonous...
The wolfhound defeated by a poisonous arrow
Fell under the horse hooves.

The racer ripple, cursing the invaders:
«Yes are these a people? ! Really? ! »
But even the priceless horse
The aliens in a rage not regret!

And the horse struck out... The circle is more narrow, narrow...
In the face Aishat - the threats and the curses...
«No! Than a touch of the vile hands is,
It is better to our Koisu in the embraces! »

And the girl, which is not became the wife,
Rushed into the abyss by a wounded eagle.
And native Koisu caught her...
Do not give to a despicable to profit! ..

You're late, you're late, the groom! ..
The young body at the bottom of the stream...
Passed yours Thursdays so much! ..
Oh how many its burned in the fire of war!

And the craving Shah got the gift
Not the charms of the mountain girl of golden curls
(The honor of our proud women -is not the good)
But the heads of the killed men are she do in the morning! ..

...That's all of it, the legend, all of it,
That a centuries in the silence asleep...
We carried it through the times,
We are, the elders of many thoughts, we are, a rocks...

- And what is do Mohammed, a soldier-poet? !
Was is alive? .. Gone in the other country? ..
- He do not died. But he is, through many years,
Carried two wounds, two heart wounds.

One, washed in his blood,
It is healed the wound this,
But the wound -the pain of the ruined love
It is not heal to the poet!