My soul is dark
G.Byron

My soul is dark – Oh! quickly string
The harp I yet can brook to hear;
And let thy gentle fingers fling
Its melting murmur o’er mine ear.
If in this heart a hope be dear,
That sound shall charm it forth again:
If in these eyes there lurk a tear,
‘Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.

But bid the strain be wild and deep,
Nor let thy notes of joy be first:
I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,
Or else this heavy heart will burst;
For it had been by sorrow nursed,
And ached in sleepless silence long;
And now ‘tis doomed to know the worst,
And break at once – or yield to song.


The Day-Star is Gone
(in Russian) Words by Alexander Pushkin

The day-star is gone.
Evening mist covers the dark blue ocean...
Roar, roar you obedient sails,
Make waves beneath me, you hostile sea!

...I see the shore afar,
The enchanted land of noon,
I aspire to it with thrill and pain,
Soaked with memories.

And I feel tears born again in my eyes,
My soul boils then faints -
A familiar dream flies around me -
I remember now the wild love of my past
And all that hurt me, and all that consoled...
All the contradictory deceit of desires and hopes.

Roar, roar you obedient sails,
Make waves beneath me, you hostile sea!
Fly forward ship! Bear me to the farthest rim:
Ruled by caprices of the treacherous seas

Bear me anywhere -

- Not to the dolorous shores
Of my misty fatherland only.


The Faded Joy of my Wild Years
(in Russian) Words by Alexander Pushkin

The faded joy of my wild years
Oppresses me as a blurry hangover
And, like wine, the sorrow of past days
Grows stronger as it ages.

My way now is dull,
It promises labor and woe
Amidst the waving future sea -

But I don't want, my friends, to die -
I want to live, for I can think and suffer,
And I feel sure there will be joys for me
Among the sorrows, vanities and cares.

Again some time I will be drunk with harmony
And spill my tears over a fiction,
And probably the smile of farewell love
Will spark my final somber days.

Demon
(in Russian) Words by Alexander Pushkin

In those past days when all impressions
Of the existence were still new to me -
The women's side-glances, the rustle of a grove,
And late at night the song of a nightingale -
When those sublime passions
Of freedom, glory, and love,
Together with the inspired arts,
Excited forcefully my blood,
Like a sudden shadow of angst
Amidst the hours of hopes and pleasures,
Some evil genius began
To visit me in secret.

Our meetings were quite joyless:
His smile, his weird gaze,
His stinging talk infused
Cold venom into my soul.
He tempted the providence
With an inexhaustible malediction,
He called the beauty just a dream,
He disdained the inspiration,
He won't believe in love or freedom,
Looked mockingly at life itself,
And won't bless a single thing
In the whole universe.


Kazbek Monastery
(in Russian) Words by Alexander Pushkin

High above the family of peaks,
Kazbek, your royal tent shines with eternal rays -
And your monastery floats beyond the clouds
Like an ark hovering in the sky, glimpsed above the crests.

Oh distant, long-desired haven! There, saying farewell to the gorge,
I would raise myself to free heights!
There, in a celestial cell,
I would hide myself near God.


A Dream
(in Russian) Words by Mikhail Lermontov

In the heat of the noon, in the valley of Daghestan
With lead in my breast I lay without move.
The deep wound still smoked,
Drop by drop my blood leaked.

I lay alone on the valley sand,
The ragged cliffs crowded above me,
The sun burned their yellow tops
And burned me too - but I was asleep with a dream of death.

And I saw with shining lights
A night banquet in my homeland.
From young ladies crowned with flowers
I heard a happy talk about me.

Not entering this happy talk
She sat alone in thought,
Her young soul lost in sad dream -
God knows why 'twas so.

And in her dream she saw the valley of Daghestan,
In it the familiar body -
The wound in his breast still smoked,
Blood leaked as a cooling stream.