The snowy spring is raging mad,
I look away from the saga;
O, dreadful hour, when she read
The palm extended by Tsouniga.
Into his eyes she aimed her gaze,
There was mockery in her dark eyes,
The row of pearly teeth had blazed,
And I forgot all the days and midnights.
The heart got overflowed with blood,
My homeland memories erasing.
A voice would sing, «With all your being
You’d have to pay me back for love.»
Бушует снежная весна.
Я отвожу глаза от книги...
О, страшный час, когда она,
Читая по руке Цуниги,
В глаза Хозе метнула взгляд!
Насмешкой засветились очи,
Блеснул зубов жемчужный ряд,
И я забыл все дни, все ночи,
И сердце захлестнула кровь,
Смывая память об отчизне...
А голос пел: Ценою жизни
Ты мне заплатишь за любовь!
«In the days of my youth she was fond of me, / And the seven-stemmed flute she handed me. / To me with smile she listened; and already gently / Along the openings echoing of the woods / Was playing I with fingers tender: / Both hymns solemn, god-inspired / And peaceful song of Phrygian sh...»
«In those days when new to me were / Of existence all impressions: — / The maiden's glances, the forests' whisper, / The song of nightingale at night; / When the sentiments elevated / Of Freedom, glory and of love, / And of art the inspiration / Stirred deeply so my blood: — / My ...»
«Like a dog on a chain the machine-gun / Barks out from beyond the wood; / Splinters of shrapnel are buzzing / Like bees as they forage for food. And that distant ‘Hurrah’, like the song of / The reapers, might tempt you to say / That this is some peaceful village / At the end of a f...»
«To M. M. Chichagov Like a dog that strains on heavy halter / Rifle yaps across the forest now, / Bee-like, buzzing shrapnel doesn’t falter, / Gathering bright red honey from the bough. In the distance, though, “Hurrah” is sounding / Like the reapers’ singing when they’re done. / ...»