M.Lermontov, Demon, Chapter 1, Xi - Xv - Translation (Rus.) Poem by Lyudmila Purgina

XI

And here is the church on empty road,
Since old ages it rests in it
One knyaz, he's a saint for now,
But by the furious hand was killed.
Times after may the passing traveller
Be praying hardly near it,
Whether he go on a holiday or fighting,
This pray could him keep
From a moslim's dagger bad.
But this brave bridegroom had neglected
The rules of ansestors, and tempted
He was then by the dream of his fiancee;
The demon lured him in mind,
He was filled with the long for love
Under the veil of the night.
But suddenly before him shadows appeared...
What's for? The shot is heared.
The brave knyaz raised on the stirrups ringing,
Moved his papakha on eyebrows, * papakha - a wool cap
Without a word he rushed as eagle
With turkish gun against the foes...
The shot's again! A wild cry
And a muffled groan then had swept
Through vale deep. The furious fighting
Was short, the georgians fleed, got frightened.

XII

Then everything calmed down; totally frightened
The crowd of the camels gazed
On corpses of the riders; in a silence
Their bells were ringing deafly; was ransacked
The pompous caravan; only a bird
In night was circling high in sky
Above the Cristian's bodies died!
No any peaceful tomb under the stones
Will wait them in the monastery, where
The ashes of the fathers lie, and no
No any sisters, mothers, all in veils
Will mourn, and cry, and supplicate
On their graves, being far placed!
There the zealous hand will put the cross
On the roadside, above the rock,
For the continuous memory; the ivy long
Will twine around it in spring
With its green net, growing such thick;
And the pedestrian will turn
From his hard way, being strongly tired,
For rest under its shade desired.

XIII

The horse is racing faster than a deer,
It snorts and earns as if the fight is near;
Or suddenly it reins in motion
And harkens to the wind's slight caution,
Dilating widely nostrils, or
Kicking ground in one moment
With sharp calks on the hoofs,
And waving its mane tousled,
Without mind it goes forward.
And on it you will see a horseman!
He's silent, tossing on the saddle,
Falled down to the mane with head.
He doesn't drive his horse with bridles,
With feet, pushed into the stirrups,
And blood, as a wide spurt, flows down
His snabrack. Though runner
Has carried from the fight his rider,
As quick as that the instant arrow,
The bullet of Ossetian bad
Catched him, causing the death.


XIV

In Gudal's family there are the tears now,
And people are crowding in yard...
Who's horse had run, all in the soap,
And fallen down the gates behind?
Who was that lifeless rider on it?
The traces of the martial trouble
Were set in swarthy face's wrinkles;
The blood was on his clothes and weapon,
And hand was clutching the horse's mane
In his last movement, crazy action.
Thus, not for long the girl was waiting
For her young bridegroom, he had come,
And kept his word of the true knyaz,
By visiting the wedding feast. But all's in vain.
Alas! He couln't ride his horse again,
And never ever turn alive!

XV

As thunder from the highest heavens
The punishment of god had flied
On this before light-hearted family!
Tamara bursted into cry,
Tear after tear, her breast hard breathing...
But suddenly what she is hearing?
As if the mystic voice is saying:
'Don't cry, oh baby! It is vainly!
Your tear on the mute corpse really
Can't bring him life, as dew enliving:
It's only the mist in clear eye,
It's on your cheeks the burning fire!
He is so far, he won't estimate
Your melancholy and depression;
The heaven's light is now caressing
His sight incorporeal; he's taking pleasure
With mystic songs of paradise.
What for the earthly dreams for him?
What for the tears and hard cries
Of poor virgin to the guest of skies?
No, that lot of the mortal living,
Believe me, angel on the earth,
To bitter sadness doesn't not worth!