M.Lermontov, The Melancholic Toll Of Bells...- Transl.(Rus.) Poem by Lyudmila Purgina

By Mikhail Yurievich Lermontov

The melancholic toll of bells
Astounds me in evening hour...
Unwillingly it does resemble
Illusive hopes in my soul...
And even wind - a traveller such single
While rustling over the cemetery grass,
Could not cool something, , that is deeply
Is living in my core of heart.
The destiny can't bury all
My genius, which has grown high,
But what can keep it in this world
From the artful calumny, the dull delight...
From wasting passions and the tongue
Of lecherous lovers, from desires,
That you could not describe,
For people, mediocre minded?
Without food the bright such flame
Should die there on the moisted cliff.
The stone so coldly is listening -
Let's give one more attempt to him
And open the sources of heart's pleasure,
And then he will explain, what you
Ought thus to feel in situation,
In mere things not seeing the perfection.
He is not used to value beauty,
As that one, who tried all the Nature hold
Within his breast, who tries to get full cost
For sufferings on lovely earth,
And by this great triumph achieving
The soul's divinity and its eternal freedom...