The sounds have calmed down in the wood,
Soon the sunrays will stop be shining either...
My beautiful friend, oh, how much I would
Be glad to see you coming to me hither!
Oh, how soon the charming childish word
To frightfulness will turn intense impatience?
Oh, how soon, like a silent wading bird,
Will you appear overwhelmed with passions?
Transparent mists are sliding over the wave, —
White, coiling up, — as if your palls thrown down...
The fairy time has come, am I an elf
Who dreams of his dryad to come around?
Or, do night shadows, at one with you,
Provoke such a languorous delusion?
Or else, is it like an obsession, due
To passions, — a poetical solution?
Последний звук умолк в лесу глухом,
Последний луч погаснул за горою…
О, скоро ли в безмолвии ночном,
Прекрасный друг, увижусь я с тобою?
О, скоро ли младенческая речь
В испуг мое изменит ожиданье?
О, скоро ли к груди моей прилечь
Ты поспешишь, вся трепет, вся желанье?
Скользит туман прозрачный над рекой,
Как твой покров, свиваясь и белея…
Час фей настал! Увижусь ли с тобой
Я в царстве фей, мечтательная фея?
Иль заодно с тобой и ночь, и мгла
Меня томят и нежат в заблужденьи?
Иль это страсть больная солгала
И жар ночной потухнет в песнопеньи?
« My friend, I have forgotten all that’s passed, / The passion of my youth was rather brief. / Don’t ask about the things that didn’t last, / Or how I felt in the times of joy or grief, / Or what I loved, on how I was betrayed. / I may not know true happiness today: / But...»
«Don’t covet goods of other beings — / My Goodness, You’ve commanded so; / The limits of my will You know — / Am I to manage tender feelings? / I wish not to offend my friend. / His village I do not desire, / And for his steer I don’t aspire, / I’m gazing at it all, content:...»
«Trapped behind bars, in dampness I dwell. / A young-hearted eagle brought up in a cell, / My dejected companion, under the frame, / Continues to peck at the red, bloody game, He pecks at it, flings it and then, looks outside, / As if we have reached a consensus by sight. / He summons me t...»
«Lisa is afraid to love. / Nonsense, — that is not her manner! / Careful — what if it’s a bluff / And perhaps this new Diana / Has repressed her passion’s call — / And with shameful, glowing eyes / Walks among us in disguise, / Looking just for whom to fall.»