We shall not escape Hell, my passionate
sisters, we shall drink black resins —
we who sang our praises to the Lord
with every one of our sinews, even the finest,
we did not lean over cradles or
spinning wheels at night, and now we are
carried off by an unsteady boat
under the skirts of a sleeveless cloak,
we dressed every morning in
fine Chinese silk, and we would
sing our paradisal songs at
the fire of the robbers’ camp,
slovenly needlewomen, (all
our sewing came apart), dancers,
players upon pipes: we have been
the queens of the whole world!
first scarcely covered by rags,
then with constellations in our hair, in
gaol and at feasts we have
bartered away heaven,
in starry nights, in the apple
orchards of Paradise.
— Gentle girls, my beloved sisters,
we shall certainly find ourselves in Hell!
Быть в аду нам, сёстры пылкие,
Пить нам адскую смолу, —
Нам, что каждою-то жилкою
Пели Господу хвалу!
Нам, над люлькой да над прялкою
Не клонившимся в ночи,
Уносимым лодкой валкою
Под полою епанчи.
В тонкие шелка китайские
Разнаряженным с утра,
Заводившим песни райские
У разбойного костра.
Нерадивым рукодельницам
— Шей не шей, а всё по швам! —
Плясовницам и свирельницам,
Всему миру — госпожам!
То едва прикрытым рубищем,
То в созвездиях коса.
По острогам да по гульбищам
Прогулявшим небеса.
Прогулявшим в ночи звёздные
В райском яблочном саду…
— Быть нам, девицы любезные,
Сёстры милые — в аду!
«My days still linger, slow and rough, / Each moment multiplies the sadness / Within the heart of hapless love / And drives my yearning into madness. / I’m silent; I don’t dare to breathe. / I weep, my tears are my salvation. / My soul, held captive in this grief, / In tears alone f...»
«Before you, silently I sway. / I feel so anxious when you’re near me, / In vain, I cast a glance your way: / I’m sure that I will never say, / What I’m imagining so freely.»
«Don’t ask me why, alone in dismal thought, / In times of mirth, I’m often filled with strife, / And why my weary stare is so distraught, / And why I don’t enjoy the dream of life; Don’t ask me why my happiness has perished, / Why I don’t love the love that pleased me then, / No ...»
«We many were who filled the boat: / Some held the sails aloft and flying, / Some plied the oars, and thus, defuing, / The wayward winds, kept us afloat. / Our helmsman steered the vessel, loaded / Full as she was, and onward sent; / And I, to them I sang, content / And unconcerned... A...»