The Demon / Демон. Книга для чтения на английском языке. Михаил Лермонтов

shaken, she on them must choke…

      Then, suddenly, it seems she hears

      Above her words of wonder spoke:

      «Weep not, my child! Weep not in vain!

      Those tears are no life-giving rain

      To call an unresponsive corpse

      Back to the living world again.

      They only serve to dull their source

      In those clear eyes, those cheeks to burn…

      And he is far and will not learn

      Of all your bitter sorrow now;

      The winds of heaven now caress

      His high, angelic brow;

      And heavenly music, heavenly light…

      What are the dreams and dark duress,

      The little hopes and stifled sighs

      Of earthly maidens in the sight

      Of one who dwells in paradise?

      Ah no, the lot of mortal man,

      Believe, my earthly angel dear,

      It merits not one second's span

      Your precious sorrow here.

            On the wastes of airy ocean

           Rudderless and stripped of sail

           Through the mists in listless motion

           Stars in courses never fail;

           Through the boundless fields of heaven

           Traceless pass the fluffy sheep —

           Clouds dissolving in the even

           Reaches of the azure steppe.

           Hour of parting, hour of meeting,

           Brings them neither joy nor sorrow;

           Nor regrets for past fast fleeting;

           Nor desires for any morrow.

           Let remembrance day be only

           One long sorrow-laden day;

           For the rest, be strong and lonely

           Free of earthly cares as they!»

      «As soon as night has spread her veil

      To cover the Caucasian heights;

      As soon as nature 'neath the spell

      Of magic words falls silent quite;

      As soon as on the cliffs the wind

      Runs rustling through the fading grass,

      And the small bird that hides behind

      The brittle blades flies up at last;

      And, drinking in the evening dew

      Beneath the vine-leaves in the gloom,

      Night flowering blossoms come to bloom;

      As soon as the great, golden moon

      Above the mountain quietly peeps

      To steal a stealthy glance at you;

      I shall come flying to watch your sleep

      And on your silken lashes lay

      Enchanted dreams of golden day…»

      XVI

      And softly as a strange delusion

      The voice fell silent, sound on sound.

      The maid sprang up and gazed around,

      An inexpressible confusion

      Within her breast; – sorrow nor fear

      Nor ecstasy could now compare

      With this great upsurge of emotion.

      The soul from its fast fetters broke

      And burning fire coursed through her veins

      It seemed as though the voice still spoke

      Unknown and wonderful – and then

      The sleep she craved came down to bless

      Her weary eyes with heaviness;

      But now he troubled even her thought

      With dreams prophetic and unsought:

      A stranger, mist-enshrouded, stood

      Beside her bed and spoke no word

      But, glimmering with unearthly beauty,

      He looked at her with quiet devotion

      And sadly, as it were in pity.

      But this was not her guardian angel,

      No visitant from realms divine:

      About his head no radiant halo

      Upon the shadowy curls did shine

      Nor was it some tormented sprite

      Some vicious spirit of hell – ah no!

      Neither of darkness nor of light!..

      More like the gentle afterglow

      As evening deepens into night!..

      Part II

      I

      «Ah, father, father, leave your threat's

      Scold not your daughter yet again.

      For see these tears! I'm weeping yet

      You know full well since when

      The suitors come to seek my hand

      From all the corners of the land…

      As though in Georgia only one

      Young maid there were they'd have as bride…

      But I–I can be wife to none!..

      Oh, father, father, do not chide,

      You see yourself – a poison slow

      Envenoms all my waking thought

      The evil one won't let me go

      By overwhelming dreams distraught

      I fade and perish utterly!

      Have pity, let your foolish girl

      Seek refuge in a monastery

      There, if I can but take the veil

      The saviour will take care of me

      And I shall tell Him all my woe.

      The world, I know it all too well,

      Holds nothing for me: let a cell

      In twilit shadow shelter me…

      As in a grave – precociously…»

      II

      And so Tamara's family

      To a far convent brought their child,

      And there in all humility

      In hair-shirt rough the maiden mild

      Enrobed her youthful breast.

      Yet in this harsh, monastic garb

      Her troubled heart found no more rest

      From dreams forbidden and debarred

      Than clad in velvet or brocade.

      Before the altar at the hour,

      Of shining candles, solemn prayer,

      Through the sweet chanting of the choir

      Familiar speech would reach her ear

      And there, beneath the cupola,

      A well-known