M.Lermontov, The Runaway - Translation (Rus.) Poem by Lyudmila Purgina

The runaway
by Mikhail Yurievich Lermontov

Garun was faster, than a deer,
And faster, than a hare quick,
He ran away, caught by a fear,
From the curcassian battlefield.
His father and two brothers there
Had died for freedom and for honour,
And now their heads are laying
In dust under the heel of foe.
Their blood is bleeding, asking vengeance,
Garun forgot his duty, shame,
He lost there in heat of battle
His gun, his sabre - and he ran! -
The day had gone, the wreaths of hazes
Covered the meadows with veil,
From east the cold breeze came near;
Above the desert of the prophet's land
The golden crescent moon has raised! ...

Being tired, parched with a thirst so cruel,
Wiping the blood and sweat from face,
Garun is recognizing aul,
Which moonlight all illuminates.

He sneaked up, no one had noticed...
There was a silence everywhere.
From the bloody battle he was only,
Who had returned to home back.
To saklya he in haste is going, (*saklya - is the house in aul,
the village of Circassians)
It is all lit, the host is there.
Reluctantly, he enters threshold,
Sulim was his friend, but he didn't
Give any sign to know him,
Because Selim was deadly ill -
He laid on his bed all alone.
'Great is Allah! He with his blessing
From poison should have saved you much
For glory with his holy angels...
'What's new? ' - Selim as welcome asked,
Raising his feeble eyes to Garun,
And casting at him a hope glance,
Half-risen from his bed, he seemed again
Going through the battle end...

'For two days we were hardly fighting...
My father falled, the same my brothers.
I had escaped, running to desert,
As a wild beast, chased by the enemies,
With blood-strained feet
From sharp rocks, bushes,
I went by ways, unknown, rooty,
By steps of wolves and wild boars.
Circassian are dying all.
Give me a shelter, old friend!
For god's sake! Never I'll forget
Your service till the day of death! ...'
The dying man had answered that:
'Go out! - you are worth to blaming.
No roof, no any bliss, no shelter
Will be for a coward forever! '

With shame and inner grief the young boy,
Without any anger wave,
Garun has silently gone out
Of the ungrateful house, cheerless.
And passing by the new-built saklya,
He stopped for a moment to dream
About former life, and rather
The old days with heat had kissed
Hid cold forehead. Happiness
Once filled him so light and sweet
In darkness of the poor night.
As if again he sees the sight,
Again the eyes has flashed before him,
And he thought: 'I'm - the beloved
By her, with me she's living...'
And her he's daring to visit...
But hears the old song, acquisitive...
As a moonlight then Garun turned dim....

Moon is floating,
Calmly and silent,
The young man is going
To the great fighting.
Dzhigit is loading now his gun, (*Dzhigit - a horseman)
And girl is saying to him: 'My love!
Be brave to bear the will of fate,
And to the east should firmly pray,
Be faithful to Allah! Take faith
To honour and to glory day.
And who will betray
His natives and land,
And fighting no foes,
Will die without glory.
The rains will not wash him,
The beasts will not eat him.
The moon is floating
Calmly and silent.
The young man's going
To the great fighting.

With bowed head, Garun is quickly
Continuing his way, a tear
Is falling down from eyelash
On chest, when he goes ahead.

And here's his house, stooped by tempest,
As a white spot in the darkness black.
Encouraged, he has stopped at the fence,
And knocked the window with hand.

Perhaps, his mother is warmly praying
For him to god in heaven high!
Perhaps, his old mother is waiting
For him, the only survived!
'Oh, mother! Open the door, my dear!
I'm Garun! Your youngest son.
Through russian bullets I passed really
Without any wound...' 'Alone? '
'Alone.' 'And your father, brothers? '
'They falled down with grace of God,
And angels took their souls highly...'
'Have you revenged? ' 'Oh, no, no...'

But as an arrow I've climbed
The mountains, leaving my gun
In alien land, to you have come,
So that you be glad and consoled...'
'Stop telling! Gyaur sly and cunning,
You couldn't die without glory.
So live from my house far and out.
With your shame, the runaway dishonoured,
I should not darken my old years.
You are a slave, a filthy coward,
You are not my son - never ever! '

The word of the rejection downed,
And everything was caught by dream...
The curses, prayings and hard woes
For long were heard at windows;
At last one stab of dagger ended
The shame of the unlucky boy...
In morning mother saw the remnants,
And turned her sight with inner cold...
His corpse, expelled from the faithful followers,
No one had carried to the grave,
And blood from his deep wound was constantly
Licked by a hound, grawling as evil.
And the young boys were scolding, swearing,
Standing above the body cold.
The death of the runaway and shame his
Were in the old legends stored.

His soul from the eyes of prophet
Has run away with awful fear;
But shadow on the eastern rock-hills
Till now all night is wandering.
And at the windows in morning
He asks to enter, knocking door,
But by the loud words of Queran
He once again is running for
To veil of haze, as earlier from sword.

-


Such an awful story...: (