Silent I sit by the prison's high window,
Where through the bars the blue heavens are breaking.
Flecks in the azure, the free birds are playing;
Watching them fly there, my shamed heart is aching.
But on my sinful lips never a prayer,
Never a song in the praise of my charmer;
All I recall are far fights and old battles,
My heavy sword and my old iron armor.
Now in stone armor I hopelessly languish,
And a stone helmet my hot head encases,
This shield is proof against arrows and sword-play,
And without whip, without spur, my horse races.
Time is my horse, the swift-galloping charger,
And for a visor this bleak prison grating,
Walls of my prison are heavy stone armor;
Shielded by cast-iron doors, I am waiting.
Hurry, oh fast-flying Time, fly more quickly!
In my new armor I faint, I am choking.
I shall alight, with Death holding my stirrup,
Then my cold face from this visor uncloaking.
Молча сижу под окошком темницы,
Синее небо отсюда мне видно:
В небе играют всё вольные птицы;
Глядя на них, мне и больно и стыдно.
Нет на устах моих грешной молитвы,
Нету ни песни во славу любезной:
Помню я только старинные битвы,
Меч мой тяжёлый да панцирь железный.
В каменный панцирь я ныне закован,
Каменный шлем мою голову давит,
Щит мой от стрел и меча заколдован,
Конь мой бежит, и никто им не правит.
Быстрое время — мой конь неизменный,
Шлема забрало — решётка бойницы,
Каменный панцирь — высокие стены,
Щит мой — чугунные двери темницы.
Мчись же быстрее, летучее время!
Душно под новой бронёю мне стало!
Смерть, как приедем, подержит мне стремя, —
Слезу и сдёрну с лица я забрало.
«From the start, each living thing’s / Got its own mark upon it. / I’d have been a thief and a cheat / If I’d not turned out a poet. Scrawny and undersized, / Always the hero of the gang, / I’d often come back home / With my nose bashed in. And when my scared mother saw me, / ...»
«Only one final trick remains — / To stick my fingers in my mouth, / And whistle! Now my evil name — / Foul-mouthed brawler—has got about. Ah, how farcical this waste was! / Farcical waste in life’s not new. / Ashamed I once believed in God, / I’m bitter I no longer do. Ah, yo...»
«Years of my youth, years of dissipation, / I poisoned you myself with a deadly poison. I do not know if death is close at hand or far. / My eyes which once were blue no longer are. Where are you, happiness? I weep, I cringe, all’s dark. / You’re nowhere to be found. Outside or in the bar...»
«Ah, old lady, are you still alive? / I am, and I give you welcome. / May this unearthly evening light / Flood down on the old home. They tell me you hide your alarm. / But that I soon made you despair. / You often go out on the road / In a dress old-fashioned and threadbare. In the blu...»