A year will come, the year of Russia, last,
When the monarchs' crown will be cast;
Mob will forget its former love and faith,
And food of many will be blood and death;
When the cast off law will not guard
A guiltless woman and a feeble child;
When the plague on bodies, sick or dead,
Among the gloomy villages will spread,
To call from huts with pieces of a rag,
And dearth will maim this poor earth as plague;
And on the lakes will fateful glow lay:
A mighty man will come in this black day.
You'll recognize this man and understand,
Why he will have the shining knife in hand:
And woe for you! — Your moans and appeals
He will consider just as funny things;
And all his image will be awful now,
As his black mantle and his lofty brow.
Настанет год, России черный год,
Когда царей корона упадет;
Забудет чернь к ним прежнюю любовь,
И пища многих будет смерть и кровь;
Когда детей, когда невинных жен
Низвергнутый не защитит закон;
Когда чума от смрадных, мертвых тел
Начнет бродить среди печальных сел,
Чтобы платком из хижин вызывать,
И станет глад сей бедный край терзать;
И зарево окрасит волны рек:
В тот день явится мощный человек,
И ты его узнаешь — и поймешь,
Зачем в руке его булатный нож:
И горе для тебя! — твой плач, твой стон
Ему тогда покажется смешон;
И будет всё ужасно, мрачно в нем,
Как плащ его с возвышенным челом.
«3 Heart, betrayal! / But never parting! / And the tan arm of the thief / To the white lips. Short concussion of bones on the plates. / Gregory! Dimitry! / Tsar-killers! Blood and fluff! / And — on the spears / With the second jump!»
«4 "Your chest is redolent, / Just like a rosemary trunk... / A most honorable lady..." / "My young honored one..." "I'm dark, unrecognized, quiet... / With what shall I repay..." / From underneath the eyelids / Something, "With life!" did say. In every chased-down stranger / We ar...»
«White sail out in the bay / billowing in the wind. / Why sail so far away? / Why leave so much behind? Winds must play on the seas / and masts creak in the wind. / Fortune is not what he seeks, / nor what he's left behind. A golden light still pours / down onto deep blue seas; / th...»
«1 Into the treasure chest / Of the midnight depths / I let down / A steady hand. Amid seaweed / There's no sight of him! / My treasure-chest / Is not in the sea! Into the singing height / Clouds beyond — / With double thunder / I get brave — and now A lark has dropped / ...»