He marked with coal, as I languished,
A target on my left side
To shoot and free the bird — my anguish
Into the empty night.
Your hand won’t tremble in the least,
My dear! I won’t suffer long.
The bird — my anguish will soar, released,
To perch and sing its song.
This will cause him to say it aloud,
The one who is home and content:
“A familiar voice, but I can’t make it out,” —
And lower his eyes again.
Углем наметил на левом боку
Место, куда стрелять,
Чтоб выпустить птицу — мою тоску
В пустынную ночь опять.
Милый! не дрогнет твоя рука,
И мне недолго терпеть.
Вылетит птица — моя тоска,
Сядет на ветку и станет петь.
Чтоб тот, кто спокоен в своем дому,
Раскрывши окно, сказал:
«Голос знакомый, а слов не пойму», —
И опустил глаза.
«Yes! It's settled! Now and for ever / I have left my dear old plain. / And the winged leaves of poplars will never / Ring and rustle above me again. / / Our house will sag in my absence, / And my dog died a long time ago. / Me, I'm fated to die with compassions / In the crooked str...»
«There was only one game now lacking: / Pursed my lips and a whistle blew. / Foolish glory thus sent I packing, / Cause of scandal and foul mouthed too. Ach! how comical is the losing! / Life is full of this kind of loss. / Can’t deny if you are accusing – / Faith I had in that god o...»
«I have got but one only fun left: / Fingers mouthed, and a whistle of cheer. / An ill fame has swept o’er that I am / A vulgarian, a debauchee. Ah, how paltry, how trifling the waste is! / Trifling losses are plenty around. / Having had faith in God is shameful. / Having no faith is ...»
«Out-up is a crescent; down, a wind is blowing. / Settling poplar wool is silvery and glowing. Far ‘talianka* sobbing, solitary descant, / Is so sweetly homey and so sadly distant. Crafty runs now giggle, now burst out crying. / Where are you, my linden? Age ol' mine, where are you? Once, ...»