Works of Alexander Pushkin Page 4
JEALOUSY
DAMP day’s light is quenched: damp night’s darkness
Stretches over the sky its leaden garment.
Like a ghost, from behind the pine wood
Foggy moon has risen....
— All brings upon my soul darkness grievous.
Far, far away rises the shining moon,
There the earth is filled with evening warmth
There the sea moveth with luxuriant wave
Under the heavens blue....
Now is the time. On the hillside now she walks
To the shore washed by noisy waves.
There, under the billowed cliffs
Alone she sits now melancholy....
Alone... none before her weeping, grieves not,
Her knees none kisses in ecstasy.
Alone... to lips of none she is yielding
Her shoulders, nor moist lips, nor snow-white fingers.
None is worthy of her heavenly love.
Is it not so? Thou art alone.... Thou weepest....
And I at peace? —
But if —
1823.
IN AN ALBUM
THE name of me, what is it to thee
Die it shall like the grievous sound
Of wave, playing on distant shore,
As sound of night in forest dark.
Upon the sheet of memory
Its traces dead leave it shall
Inscriptions-like of grave-yard
In some foreign tongue.
What is in it? Long ago forgotten
In tumultuous waves and fresh
To thy soul not give it shall
Pure memories and tender.
But on sad days, in calmness
Do pronounce it sadly;
Say then: I do remember thee —
1829.
THE AWAKING
On earth one heart is where yet I live!
YE dreams, ye dreams,
Where is your sweetness?
Where thou, where thou
O — joy of night?
Disappeared has it,
The joyous dream;
And solitary
In darkness deep
I awaken.
Round my bed
Is silent night.
At once are cooled,
At once are fled,
All in a crowd
The dreams of Love —
Still with longing
The soul is filled
And grasps of sleep
The memory.
O — Love, O Love,
O — hear my prayer:
Again send me
Those visions thine,
And on the morrow
Raptured anew
Let me die
Without awaking!
1816.
ELEGY: HAPPY WHO TO HIMSELF CONFESS
HAPPY who to himself confess
His passion dares without terror;
Happy who in fate uncertain
By modest hope is fondled;
Happy who by foggy moonbeams
Is led to midnight joyful
And with faithful key who gently
The door unlocks of his beloved.
But for me in sad my life
No joy there is of secret pleasure;
Hope’s early flower faded is,
By struggle withered is life’s flower.
Youth away flies melancholy,
And droop with me life’s roses;
But by Love tho’ long forgot,
Forget Love’s tears I cannot.
FIRST LOVE
NOT at once our youth is faded,
Not at once our joys forsake us,
And happiness we unexpected
Yet embrace shall more than once;
But ye, impressions never-dying
Of newly trepidating Love,
And thou, first flame of Intoxication,
Not flying back are coming ye!
ELEGY: HUSHED I SOON SHALL BE
HUSHED I soon shall be. But if on sorrow’s day
My songs to me with pensive play replied;
But if the youths to me, in silence listening
At my love’s long torture were marvelling;
But if thou thyself, to tenderness yielding
Repeated in quiet my melancholy verses
And didst love my heart’s passionate language;
But if I am loved: — grant then, O dearest friend,
That my beautiful beloved’s coveted name
Breathe life into my lyre’s farewell.
When for aye embraced I am by sleep of Death,
Over my urn do with tenderness pronounce:
“By me he loved was, to me he owed
Of his love and song his last inspiration.”
THE BURNT LETTER
GOOD-BYE, love-letter, good-bye! ‘T is her command....
How long I waited, how long my hand
To the fire my joys to yield was loath!...
But eno’, the hour has come: bum, letter of my love!
I am ready: listens more my soul to nought.
Now the greedy flame thy sheets shall lick...
A minute!... they crackle, they blaze... a light smoke
Curls and is lost with prayer mine.
Now the finger’s faithful imprint losing
Bums the melted wax.... O Heavens!
Done it is! curled in are the dark sheets;
Upon their ashes light the lines adored
Are gleaming.... My breast is heavy. Ashes dear,
In my sorrowful lot but poor consolation,
Remain for aye with me on my weary breast....
1825.
SING NOT, BEAUTY
SING not, Beauty, in my presence,
Of Transcaucasia sad the songs,
Of distant shore, another life,
The memory to me they bring.
Alas, alas, remind they do,
These cruel strains of thine,
Of steppes, and night, and of the moon
And of distant, poor maid’s features.
The vision loved, tender, fated,
Forget can I, when thee I see
But when thou singest, then before me
Up again it rises.
Sing not, Beauty, in my presence
Of Transcaucasia sad the songs,
Of distant shore, another life
The memory to me they bring.
SIGNS
To thee I rode: living dreams then
Behind me winding in playful crowd;
My sportive trot my shoulder over
The moon upon my right was chasing.
From thee I rode: other dreams now.
My loving soul now sad was,
And the moon at left my side
Companion mine now sad was.
To dreaming thus in quiet ever
Singers we are given over;
Marks thus of superstition
Soul’s feeling with are in accord!
A PRESENTIMENT
THE clouds again are o’er me,
Have gathered in the stillness;
Again me with misfortune
Envious fate now threatens.
Will I keep my defiance?
Will I bring against her
The firmness and patience
Of my youthful pride?
Wearied by a stormy life
I await the storm fretless
Perhaps once more safe again
A harbor shall I find....
But I feel the parting nigh,
Unavoidable, fearful hour,
To press thy hand for the last time,
I haste to thee, my angel.
Angel gentle, angel calm,
Gently tell me: fare thee well.
Be thou grieved: thy tender gaze
Either drop or to me raise.
The memory of thee now shall
To my soul replace
The strength, the pride and the hop
e,
The daring of my former days!
1828.
IN VAIN, DEAR FRIEND
IN vain, dear friend, to conceal I tried
The turmoil cold of my grieving soul;
Now me thou knowest; goes by the intoxication.
And no longer thee I love....
Vanished for aye the bewitching hours,
The beautiful time has passed,
Youthful desires extinguished are
And lifeless hope is in my heart....
LOVE’S DEBT
FOR the shores of thy distant home
Thou hast forsaken the foreign land;
In a memorable, sad hour
I — before thee cried long.
Tho’ cold my hands were growing
Thee back to hold they tried;
And begged of thee my parting groan
The gnawing weariness not to break.
But from my bitter kisses thou
Thy lips away hast torn;
From the land of exile dreary
Calling me to another land.
Thou saidst: on the day of meeting
Beneath a sky forever blue
Olives’ shade beneath, love’s kisses
Again, my friend, we shall unite.
But where, alas! the vaults of sky
Shining are with glimmer blue,
Where ‘neath the rocks the waters slumber —
With last sleep art sleeping thou.
And beauty thine and sufferings
In the urnal grave have disappeared —
But the kiss of meeting is also gone....
But still I wait: thou art my debtor!....
INVOCATION
OH, if true it is that by night
When resting are the living
And from the sky the rays of moon
Along the stones of church-yard glide;
O, if true it is that emptied then
Are the quiet graves,
I — call thy shade, I wait my Lila
Come hither, come hither, my friend, to me!
Appear, O shade of my beloved
As thou before our parting wert:
Pale, cold, like a wintry day
Disfigured by thy struggle of death,
Come like unto a distant star,
Or like a fearful apparition,
‘T is all the same: Come hither, come hither
And I call thee, not in order
To reproach him whose wickedness
My friend hath slain.
Nor to fathom the grave’s mysteries,
Nor because at times I’m worn
With gnawing doubt... but I sadly
Wish to say that still I love thee,
That wholly thine I am: hither come, O hither!
1828.
ELEGY: THE EXTINGUISHED JOY OF CRAZY YEARS
THE extinguished joy of crazy years
On me rests heavy, like dull debauch.
But of by-gone days the grief, like wine
In my soul the older, the stronger ‘t grows.
Dark my path. Toil and pain promised are me
By the Future’s roughened sea.
But not Death, O friends, I wish!
But Life I wish: to think and suffer;
Well I know, for me are joys in store
‘Mid struggles, toils, and sorrows:
Yet’ gain at times shall harmony drink in
And tears I’ll shed over Fancy’s fruit, —
Yet mayhap at my saddened sunset
Love will beam with farewell and smile.
1830.
SORROW
ASK not why with sad reflection
‘Mid gayety I oft am darkened,
Why ever cheerless eyes I raise,
Why sweet life’s dream not dear to me is;
Ask not why with frigid soul
I — joyous love no longer crave,
And longer none I call dear:
Who once has loved, not again can love;
Who bliss has known, ne’er again shall know;
For one brief moment to us ‘t is given:
Of youth, of joy, of tenderness
Is left alone the sadness.
1817.
DESPAIR
DEAR my friend, we are now parted,
My soul’s asleep; I grieve in silence.
Gleams the day behind the mountain blue,
Or rises the night with moon autumnal, —
Still thee I seek, my far off friend,
Thee alone remember I everywhere,
Thee alone in restless sleep I see.
Pauses my mind, unwittingly thee I call;
Listens mine ear, then thy voice I hear.
And thou my lyre, my despair dost share,
Of sick my soul companion thou!
Hollow is and sad the sound of thy string,
Grief’s sound alone hast not forgot....
Faithful lyre, with me grieve thou!
Let thine easy note and careless
Sing of love mine and despair,
And while listening to thy singing
May thoughtfully the maidens sigh!
1816
A WISH
SLOWLY my days are dragging
And in my faded heart each moment doubles
All the sorrows of hopeless love
And heavy craze upsets me.
But I am silent. Heard not is my murmur.
Tears I shed... they are my consolation;
My soul in sorrow steeped
Finds enjoyment bitter in them.
O — flee, life’s dream, thee not regret I!
In darkness vanish, empty vision I
Dear to me is of love my pain,
Let me die, but let me die still loving!
1816.
RESIGNED LOVE
THEE I loved; not yet love perhaps is
In my heart entirely quenched
But trouble let it thee no more;
Thee to grieve with nought I wish.
Silent, hopeless thee I loved,
By fear tormented, now by jealousy;
So sincere my love, so tender,
May God the like thee grant from another.
LOVE AND FREEDOM
CHILD of Nature and simple,
Thus to sing was wont I
Sweet the dream of freedom —
With tenderness my breast it filled.
But thee I see, thee I hear —
And now? Weak become I.
With freedom lost forever
With all my heart I bondage prize.
NOT AT ALL
I THOUGHT forgotten has the heart
Of suffering the easy art;
Not again can be, said I
Not again what once has been.
Of Love the sorrows gone were,
Now calm were my airy dreams....
But behold! again they tremble
Beauty’s mighty power before!...
INSPIRING LOVE
THE moment wondrous I remember
Thou before me didst appear
Like a flashing apparition,
Like a spirit of beauty pure.
‘Mid sorrows of hopeless grief,
‘Mid tumults of noiseful bustle,
Rang long to me thy tender voice,
Came dreams to me of thy lovely features.
Went by the years. The storm’s rebellious rush
The former dreams had scattered
And I forgot thy tender voicè,
I — forgot thy heavenly features.
In the desert, in prison’s darkness,
Quietly my days were dragging;
No reverence, nor inspiration,
Nor tears, nor life, nor love.
But at last awakes my soul:
And again didst thou appear:
Like a flashing apparition,
Like a spirit of beauty pure.
And enraptured beats my heart,
And risen are for
it again
Both reverence, and inspiration
And life, and tears, and love.
1825.
THE GRACES
Till now no faith I had in Graces:
Seemed strange to me their triple sight;
Thee I see, and with faith am filled
Adoring now in one the three!
POEMS MISCELLANEOUS
THE BIRDLET
IN exile I sacredly observe
The custom of my fatherland:
I freedom to a birdlet give
On Spring’s holiday serene.
And now I too have consolation:
Wherefore murmur against my God
When at least to one living being
I could of freedom make a gift?
1823.
THE NIGHTINGALE
IN silent gardens, in the spring, in the darkness of the night
Sings above the rose from the east the nightingale;
But dear rose neither feeling has, nor listens it,
But under its lover’s hymn waveth it and slumbers.
Dost thou not sing thus to beauty cold?
Reflect, O bard, whither art thou striding?
She neither listens, nor the bard she feels.
Thou gazest? Bloom she does; thou callest? —
Answer none she gives!
1827.
THE FLOWERET
A FLOWERET, withered, odorless
In a book forgot I find;
And already strange reflection
Cometh into my mind.
Bloomed, where? when? In what spring?
And how long ago? And plucked by whom?
Was it by a strange hand? Was it by a dear hand?
And wherefore left thus here?
Was it in memory of a tender meeting?
Was it in memory of a fated parting?
Was it in memory of a lonely walk?
In the peaceful fields or in the shady woods?
Lives he still? Lives she still?
And where their nook this very day?
Or are they too withered
Like unto this unknown floweret?
1828.
THE HORSE
Why dost thou neigh, O spirited steed,
Why thy neck so low,
Why thy mane unshaken
Why thy bit not gnawed?
Do I then not fondle thee?
Thy grain to eat art thou not free?
Is not thy harness ornamented,
Is not thy rein of silk,
Is not thy shoe of silver,
Thy stirrup not of gold?
The steed in sorrow answer gives:
Hence am I quiet
Because the distant tramp I hear,
The trumpet’s blow and the arrow’s whizz
And hence I neigh, since in the field
No longer feed I shall,
Nor in beauty live and fondling,