The Demon / Демон. Книга для чтения на английском языке

The joys that he had known above
A chain of long magnificence
Before him link on link unfolding
As though he watched the headlong flight
Of star on star shoot through the night…
And, long the touching scene beholding,
Held spell-bound by some Power unseen,
New sadness in his heart awoke.
Then, suddenly, emotion spoke
In accents once familiar;
Could this yet be regeneration?
The subtle promptings of temptation
Had gone as though they had not been…
Oblivion? – God gave this not yet: —
Nor would he, if he could, forget!..
…

X

Meanwhile, his gallant steed all lathered
Hastening to join his kin forgathered
To celebrate his wedding day
The bridegroom made his urgent way…
Good fortune yet attended him
To bright Aragva's verdant bank.
A line of camels after him
So weighted down with costly gifts
They scarce from hoof to hoof could shift
Wound down the pathway, rank on rank,
Now clear to view, now lost to sight,
Bells chiming softly as they plod.
Their master rode on in the van
To guide his laden caravan
That followed where his horse had trod…
Erect, the lithe waist girdled tight;
Sabre and dagger-hilts shine bright
Beneath the sun; and on his back
A gleaming rifle, notched in black.
The wind is fluttering the sleeve
Of his chukhá[5 - Chukha (chokha) – a part of the traditional male dress of the peoples of the Caucasus. – Ed.] – all bravely braided
His saddle-cloth of richest weave,
The saddle with gay silks is broidered
The reigns are tasseled – and his steed
Is of a priceless, golden breed.
Nostrils dilated, twitching ears
He glances down and snorts his fears
Of the deep drop, the flying foam
That crests the rapids' leaping waves.
How perilous the path they follow,
The cliff o'erhangs the way so narrow,
The deep ravine the torrent paves.
The hour is late. – The sunset glow
Is fading on the peaks of snow.
The caravan makes haste for home.

XI

But see – a chapel by the way…
Here now has rested many a day
Some prince, now canonized, but then
By vengeful hand untimely slain. —
And here the traveller must stay
Whether he hastes to fight, or whether
To join the feast, here he must ever
Rein in his horse and humbly pray
The good saint to protect his life
Against the lurking Moslem's knife.
But now the bridegroom, overbold,
Forgot his forefathers of old
And, by perfidious dreams misled
Of how, beneath the cloak of night,
He would embrace his bride, instead
Of holding by their pious rite
He yielded to the Demon's will
Seduced by turbid thoughts – until
Two figures – then a shot – ahead
What was it? Rising in his stirrups
Cramming his high hat on his brow
The gallant lover, at the gallop,
Plunged like a hawk upon his foe!
No word he spoke, his whip cracked once
And once blazed forth his Turkish gun…
Another shot. Wild cries. The Prince
Goes thundering on. The groans behind
Long echoes in the valley find…
Not long the fight. Of timorous mind,
The Georgians turn and run!

XII

Now all is silence; sadly huddled
The camels stand and stare befuddled
Upon their erstwhile master – man,
Lying dead amongst these silent fells.
The only sound their harness bells,
Ravaged and robbed their caravan;
And see, the owl flies softly round
The Christian bodies on the ground!
No peaceful tomb beneath the stones
Of some old church will take these bones