Alexander Pushkin
I visited again...

That little plot of earth, where I was doomed
To spend in exile two forgotten years.
Since then, how soon ten tears have passed away,
And in the world without so much has changed,
And I, compliant to the common law,
I too have suffered change within — but here
The past takes me again in live embrace,
It seems but yesterday I wandered still
Within these groves.

Here is the exiled hut

Whose shelter once I shared with my poor nurse.
Alas, the dear old creature breathes no more.
No more outside I hear her trudging step,
No noise of her laborious daily round.

Here is the leafy hill, where oft I sat
And motionless for hours would watch the lake,
Remembering in a melancholy mood
More distant shores, where other waters roll...
Among the golden meadows and green glades
The azure levels of the lake lap wide;
Across the water's broad unchartered breast
The humble fisher floats, and rearward drags
His wretched net. Along the sloping shores
The huts are scattered wide, and there beyond
The old mill leans awry, its sails turn slow,
Scarce busied by the breeze...

And near the bounds

There is a spot, on grandfather's estate,
Just where the road swells up toward the hill,
All pocked with pools of rain, there stand three pines–
One proud, a little way apart, and two
Like bosom friends together. When I passed
On horseback, by the moonbeam's pallid light,
The accustomed swish of shivering, rustling tips
Would whisper welcome. When along that road
This time I travelled, there before my eyes
I saw them once again. They are the same,
The same familiar scent and murmur too.
But round the roots of those two faithful friends
(Where formerly was bare and barren earth)
Now springs to life a sprightly youthful grove,
A family clothed in green. The sapling crowd
Beneath the parent shade, like children small.
But far-off stands their sullen comrade still
A battered ancient bachelor, as before
And emptiness all round.

I greet you!

Hail youthful, unknown family, and farewell!
I shall not see your future mighty growth,
When you surpass these stately pines I know,
And later screen their honoured hoary heads
From gaze of passers-by. But now I pray
Your welcome whisper greet my grandson's ear,
That from your friendly converse he return
Content, and full of happy, pleasant thoughts,
On leaving you behind in shades of night,
He may remember me.

Translated by Walter May