The bronze Horseman / Медный всадник. Книга для чтения на английском языке. Александр Пушкин

The dark and broad

      Vaults seem as old as nature. Moody,

      Distraught Ruslan is… In the cave

      A bearded ancient, his mien grave

      And quiet, sits. A lamp is burning

      Near him, a book lies on his knee;

      Engrossed in it, its pages he

      With careful hand is slowly turning.

      “I bid you welcome, knight! At last!”

      Says he in greeting, smiling warmly.

      “Here have I twenty long years passed

      Of my old age, and grim and lonely

      They’ve been… But now has come the day

      For which, foreseeing it, I waited.

      To meet, we two, my son, were fated,

      Now sit and hear me out, I pray…

      Ludmila from you has been taken;

      You flag, you droop, by hope forsaken

      And faith itself… ’Tis wrong! For brief

      With evil and its partner, grief,

      Will be, I promise, your encounter.

      Take heart; with strong, sound spirit counter

      The blows of fortune, banish woe,

      And, sword aloft held, northward go!

      ‘‘He who has wronged you, O my daring

      Young stalwart, is old Chernomor.

      A wizard, he is known to carry

      Young maids off to the hills. ’Tis for

      Long years he’s reigned there. None has ever

      His castle seen, but through its door

      You’ll pass, I know, and end forever

      The villain’s rule; by your hand he

      Will perish – so ’tis meant to be!…

      I may not yield to indiscretion

      And say aught more; your destiny

      Yourself from this day on you fashion.”

      Our knight falls at the elder’s feet

      And in delight his hand he kisses.

      The world a bright place seems, and sweet

      Life is again; forgot distress is…

      But then the sudden joyful glow

      His face leaves, and it pales and darkens.

      “Do not despair but to me harken,”

      The old man says. “I know what so

      Disquiets you: you are in fear of

      The warlock’s love, eh, knight?… Be calm

      The truth is, o my youthful hero,

      That he can do the maid no harm.

      From sky the stars he’ll pluck, I’ll wager,

      Or shift the moon that sails on high,

      But change the law of time and aging

      He cannot, hard as he may try.

      Though he lets none her chamber enter

      And jealous watch keeps at her door,

      He is the impotent tormentor

      Of his fair captive, nothing more.

      While never far from her, he curses

      His lot, and soundly – but, my knight,

      ’Tis time for you to rest: the earth is

      Enclosed in shadow; it is night.”

      On soft moss lies Ruslan, a flame

      Before him flickering. He yearns

      For soothing sleep, he twists and turns

      And flings about – but no, ’tis plain

      That sleep won’t come. He heaves a sigh

      And says: “Nay, Father, sick am I

      Of soul and cannot sleep for dreary

      And troubled thought. Talk to me, do;

      With godly speech, I beg of you,

      Relieve my heart: it aches, it’s weary…

      I make too bold to ask you this;

      You, who befriend me, I importune —

      Speak! Tell me, confidant of fortune:

      Why came you to this wilderness?”

      And with a wistful smile replying

      To him, the old man says: “Alas,

      I have forgot my land!” Then, sighing:

      “A Finn am I by birth. It was

      My lot to tend the flocks of neighbours,

      And I would take them off to graze

      In vales on which no stranger’s gaze

      E’er rested. Carefree midst my labours

      Did I remain, and only knew,

      Besides the woods and streams, what few

      Joys poverty could offer to me…

      Alas! Ahead dark days were looming.

      “Near where I lived, a lovely flower,

      One named Nahina, bloomed; of our

      Young maids none lovelier than she

      Was there. One morn, a bagpipe blowing,

      My flocks I grazed where grass was growing

      In lush profusion. I could see

      A brook wind ’fore me; by it, weaving

      A garland, sat a dear young lass…

      Her beauty – ah, ’twas past believing! —

      Drew and enchanted me, and as

      I gazed at her I knew I’d seen her

      Before… Yes, knight, it was Nahina,

      ’Twas fate had brought me there. The flame

      Of love was my reward for eyeing

      The maid thus brazenly; I came

      To know a passion self-denying:

      All of its bliss, all of its pain.

      “Six months sped by… I thought to win her

      And opened up my heart. I said:

      ‘I love thee dearly, sweet Nahina!’

      But my shy sadness only bred

      Scorn in her who was vain and prideful;

      She was indifferent to my lot,

      And said, of all my pain unmindful:

      ‘Well, shepherd mine, I love thee not!’

      “I was estranged from all, and gloomy

      Life seemed. The shady native wood,

      The games of shepherds – nothing could

      My hurt soothe and bring comfort to me

      I languished… But the far seas drew me;

      To leave my homeland sought I then

      And with a band of fighting men

      To brave the ocean’s winds capricious…

      I hoped to win renown and fame

      And for my own Nahina claim.

      This planned, according to my wishes,

      I called upon some boatmen who

      Joined with me in a quest for danger

      And