When my life is arduous,
If sadness freezes blood,
I say one prayer marvelous,
I learned it all by heart.
There's vigor unbelievable
In living words' accords,
And breathes unfamiliar
And holly charm in words.
A heart becomes not troublesome,
And doubts go awry,
And comes the truth and tears come,
And soul wants to fly.
The people of Israel, cry, cry!
You lost your star, divine and blessed;
It will not ever light the sky -
And dark will catch the earthly place.
There is, at last, a single man,
Who'd lost the whole world at that;
Void of a thought, a sense, midst plains,
He sought her trace's easy shade!
Not with the proud kind of beauty
She charms the animated youth,
And she doesn't drag behind her booty -
The crowd of her slaves, confused.
Her waist isn't one of any goddess,
Her breast does not rise like sea waves,
And nobody calls her gorgeous,
While falling on his knees on earth.
But every movement, every action,
Her features, speeches, smiles -- all these
So full of life and inspiration,
So full of otherworldly ease.
Her voice pervades the whole soul,
Like memory of happy days,
And heart is sunk in love and dole,
While being shameful of its zest.
No matter who you are, my neighbor, always sad,
I like you, yet, as my young years’ friend –
My comrade by a mischance-law –
Though the fate’s manipulative hand
Divided us for time without end,
Now by wall, then - by the unknown.
When half-light of the everyday sunrise,
Through grates of prison, dying, sends to us
It’s final greeting, gentle and rose,
And our guard, while leaning on his gun
And thinking of the past that utterly had gone,
Begins unfailingly to doze, --
Leaning my brow on a row wall,
I listen, -- and in this obscure and silent hole,
Your clear tunes begin to sound.
What they’re about, a don’t know, yet,
But full of pine, in the harmonic set,
Like easy tears, they pour around…
And love and hope of my former years
Again revive in my tormented breast,
My thoughts flee out in a distance,
My mind is full of passions and surprise,
And my blood boils – and tears from my eyes,
Like sounds flow down every instant.
My home is always there,in the heaven's vault,
Where one just hears lyre's sounds,
All with a spark of life have here their resort,
A bard has, too, a space around.
It gets the farthest stars by edges of his roof,
And from a wall to one another
There is a path whose measure can be proved
Not by a look, but by a soul, rather.
A sense of basic truth in every soul nests -
The seed that's sacred and eternal:
In flesh of time it always can embrace
Space, endless, and the century's kernel.
And mighty God has built for this exclusive sense
My home of the light and wonders,
And only here I'm doomed to sufferings at length,
And only here - to calmness.
It's Hell for us to draw the fetters
Of life in alienation, stiff.
All people prefer to share gladness,
And nobody - to share grief.
As a king of air, I'm lone here,
The pain lives in my heart, so grim,
And I can see that, to the fear
Of fate, years pass me by like dreams;
And comes again with, touched by gold,
The same dream, gloomy one and old.
I see a coffin, black and sole,
It waits: why to detain the world?
There will be not a sad reflection,
There will be (I am betting on)
Much more gaily celebration
When I am dead, than - born.
My heart is in a gloom. Be fast, Oh bard, be fast!
There is a harp of gold:
And let your fingers, that on strings are cast,
Wake sounds of the God's Abode.
And if a cruel fate kills hopes not at once,
They'll wake up in my poor soul,
And if a drop of tears is, else, in my iced eyes -
Tears will be melted and will flow.
And let your song be grim and wild. Like my wreath, hard,
I hate the sounds of mad gladness!
I say to you: I crave for tears, Oh bard,
Or heart will perish from the sadness.
It was attended with some pain before,
Was, for a long time, pining, lonesome;
The strike of fate had come - it's now full, therefore,
As a deathly cup is full with poison.
I want to live; I crave for sadness -
Against my bliss and love, in truth;
They sank my mind in idle gladness
And made my brow very smooth.
It's time for high life's derogation
To blow away the hazy peace;
What is bard's life, void of desolation?
And what are void of tempests seas?
He wants a life that burns and wounds,
The life in which it's hard to be.
He buys the Holly Heaven's sounds,
He doesn't take his fame for free.
He has been born for hopes and for joys,
For inspirations peaceful! -- But, a crazy,
He early left the world of fairy tales and toys
And threw his heart in a sea of high life, hazy.
God did not saved him from the world at once!
Thus a ripe fruit, which early had matured, --
Midst flowers it hangs, an orphan poor,
And does not satisfy nor any test, nor eyes;
The time of their bloom is one when he dies!
A greedy worm is gnawing him through,
And while the girlfriends, so sweet and gentle,
Are swaying on a branch -- the early fruit
Just pulls the own one -- until the winter enters!
It's awful to be old, without a grayish tingle:
He does not find the peers; in a crowd,
He goes, leaving locked his soul proud --
Just not a slave nor a king, with other people mingled, --
And all that he there feels, he ever feels a single!
In my beloved Scottish highlands,
Under a curtain of cold mists,
Between the sky of storms and dry sands,
The grave of Ossian exists.
My dreaming heart flies to its stone
To breathe in native air puffs
And take from it the priceless loan -
The treasure of the second life.