“Confess to me, what’s wrong. You’re in dejection.”
- I love, my friend! - “Which lady holds you captive?”
- She does. - “Glisera? Chloe? Lila’s so attractive!”
- O, no! - “To whom do you submit your soul’s affection?”
- To her! - “You’re humble! Why all this remorse?
Why do you seem so sorrowful and grim?
And who’s to blame? Her fiancé, her dad, of course...”
- It isn’t that! - “Then what?” - For her, I can’t be him.
The crimson summer now grows pale;
Clear, bright days now soar away;
Hazy mist spreads through the vale,
As the sleeping night turns gray;
The barren cornfields lose their gold;
The lively stream has now turned cold;
The curly woods are gray and stark,
And the heavens have grown dark.
Where are you, my light, Natasha?
No one's seen you, - I lament.
Don't you want to share the passion
Of this moment with a friend?
You have not yet met with me
By the pond, or by our tree,
Though the season has turned late,
We have not yet had a date.
Winter’s cold will soon arrive
Fields will freeze with frost, so bitter.
In the smoky shack, a light,
Soon enough, will shine and glitter.
I won't see my love, - I'll rage
Like a finch, inside a cage,
And at home, depressed and dazed,
I’ll recall Natasha's grace.
I loved you and this love by chance,
Inside my soul has never fully vanished;
No longer shall it ever make you tense;
I wouldn't want to sadden you with anguish.
I loved you speechlessly and wildly,
By modesty and jealousy was stressed;
I loved you so sincerely, so mildly,
As, God permit, you may be loved by someone else.
On the hills of Georgia lies the darkness of the night,
Aragva murmurs underneath.
I'm sad, yet light, my sorrow's bright,
My sorrow's filled with you.
With you, you only ... My melancholy,
Nothing can torment or disturb,
My heart, it burns and loves anew - because
It cannot live without loving.
On hills of Georgia lies the covering of night;
Aragva streams in front of me.
Such sadness and such ease; my melancholy's light,
My melancholy's full of thee,
Of thee, of only thee... No anxiousness, no pain
Unsettles my despondency;
My heart again on fire, it burns and loves again,
For otherwise it cannot be.
All harmony, all wondrous fairness,
Aloof from passions and the world,
She rests with tranquil unawareness
In her triumphant beauty furled.
When, all about her, eyes hold muster,
Nor friends, nor rivals can be found,
Our other beauties' pallid round
Extinguished wholly by her luster.
And were you bound I know not where,
Be it to love's embraces bidden,
Or what choice vision you may bear
In heart's most private chamber hidden,-
Yet, meeting her, you will delay,
Struck by besmusement in mid-motion,
And pause in worshipful devotion
At beauty's sacred shrine to pray.
When in my arms your slender form
I take, perhaps a shade too boldly,
And words of love, impetuous, warm,
Pour out to you, in silence, coldly
From my unshaked-for, rash embrace
You free yourself, and for an instant
A smile appers upon your face,
At once mistrustful, wan and distant.
Too promptly has your memory stored
Of all my errant ways the rumour -
I speak, and you are out of humor,
I plead my cause, and you are bored...
O how I curse the sweet diversions
And pleasures of my wicked youth,
Love's nightly meetings and excursions
To some dark garden nook or path,
The verses born to stimulate
And stir the blood, the fond caresses
Bestowed too soon by trusting lasses,
And their laments that came too late.