The bronze Horseman / Медный всадник. Книга для чтения на английском языке

What do you in the hush of desert
Alone, Ruslan? Sad is your plight.
Was’t all a dream – the bride you treasured,
The terrors of your wedding night?
Your helmet pushed down to your brow
Your strong hands limp, the reins let loose,
O’er woods and fields astride your steed
You ride, while faith and hope recede
And leave you well-nigh dead of spirit.

A cave shows ’fore the knight; he nears
And sees a light there. His feet lead
Him straight inside. The dark and broad
Vaults seem as old as nature. Moody,
Distraught Ruslan is… In the cave
A bearded ancient, his mien grave
And quiet, sits. A lamp is burning
Near him, a book lies on his knee;
Engrossed in it, its pages he
With careful hand is slowly turning.
“I bid you welcome, knight! At last!”
Says he in greeting, smiling warmly.
“Here have I twenty long years passed
Of my old age, and grim and lonely
They’ve been… But now has come the day
For which, foreseeing it, I waited.
To meet, we two, my son, were fated,
Now sit and hear me out, I pray…
Ludmila from you has been taken;
You flag, you droop, by hope forsaken
And faith itself… ’Tis wrong! For brief
With evil and its partner, grief,
Will be, I promise, your encounter.
Take heart; with strong, sound spirit counter
The blows of fortune, banish woe,
And, sword aloft held, northward go!

‘‘He who has wronged you, O my daring
Young stalwart, is old Chernomor.
A wizard, he is known to carry
Young maids off to the hills. ’Tis for
Long years he’s reigned there. None has ever
His castle seen, but through its door
You’ll pass, I know, and end forever
The villain’s rule; by your hand he
Will perish – so ’tis meant to be!…
I may not yield to indiscretion
And say aught more; your destiny
Yourself from this day on you fashion.”

Our knight falls at the elder’s feet
And in delight his hand he kisses.
The world a bright place seems, and sweet
Life is again; forgot distress is…
But then the sudden joyful glow
His face leaves, and it pales and darkens.
“Do not despair but to me harken,”
The old man says. “I know what so
Disquiets you: you are in fear of
The warlock’s love, eh, knight?… Be calm
The truth is, o my youthful hero,
That he can do the maid no harm.
From sky the stars he’ll pluck, I’ll wager,
Or shift the moon that sails on high,
But change the law of time and aging
He cannot, hard as he may try.
Though he lets none her chamber enter
And jealous watch keeps at her door,
He is the impotent tormentor
Of his fair captive, nothing more.
While never far from her, he curses
His lot, and soundly – but, my knight,
’Tis time for you to rest: the earth is
Enclosed in shadow; it is night.”

On soft moss lies Ruslan, a flame
Before him flickering. He yearns
For soothing sleep, he twists and turns
And flings about – but no, ’tis plain
That sleep won’t come. He heaves a sigh
And says: “Nay, Father, sick am I
Of soul and cannot sleep for dreary
And troubled thought. Talk to me, do;
With godly speech, I beg of you,
Relieve my heart: it aches, it’s weary…
I make too bold to ask you this;
You, who befriend me, I importune —
Speak! Tell me, confidant of fortune:
Why came you to this wilderness?”

And with a wistful smile replying
To him, the old man says: “Alas,
I have forgot my land!” Then, sighing:
“A Finn am I by birth. It was
My lot to tend the flocks of neighbours,
And I would take them off to graze
In vales on which no stranger’s gaze
E’er rested. Carefree midst my labours
Did I remain, and only knew,