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

Ruslan, o’ercome by fiery feeling,

Of food partakes not; from Ludmila

He cannot tear away his eyes;

He flames with love, he frowns, he sighs,

At his moustache plucks, filled with torment

And, all impatience, counts each moment.

Amid the noisy feasters brood

Three youthful knights. In doleful mood

They sit there, their great tankards empty

With downcast eyes, the fare, though tempting,

Untouched; the goblets past them sail;

They do not seem to hear the tale

Of wisdom chanted by Bayan…

The luckless rivals of Ruslan,

Of love and hate a deadly brew

In their hearts hid, the three are too

O’erwrought for speech.

Is bold Rogdai of battle fame

(’Twas he who Kiev’s boundaries

Stretched with his blade); the next, the vain,

Loud-voiced Farlaf, by none defeated

At festal board, but tame, most tame

Mid flashing swords and tempers heated;

The last, the Khazar Khan Ratmir,

A reckless spirit, aye, and ardent.

All three are pale-browed, glum, despondent:

The feast’s no feast, the cheer’s no cheer.

It’s over, and the teasiers rise

And flock together. Noise. All eyes

Are smiling, all are on the two

Young newly-weds… Ludmila, tearful,

Looks shyly down: her groom is cheerful,

He beams… Now do the shades anew

Embrace the earth, e’er nearer creeping,

The murk of midnight veils the dome…

The boyars, by sweet mead made sleepy,

Bow to their hosts and make for home.

Ruslan’s all rapture, all elation…

What bliss! In his imagination

His bride caresses he. But there

Is sadness in the warmth of feeling

With which, their happy union sealing,

The old prince blesses our young pair.

The bridal couch has long been ready;

The maid is led to it… It’s night.

The torches dim, but Lel already

His own bright lamp has set alight.

Love offers – see – its gifts most tender,

Its fondest wish at last comes true,

On carpets of Byzantine splendour

The jealous covers fall… Do you

The sound of kisses, love’s sweet token,

And its soft, whispered words not hear?

Does not – come, say – the murmur broken

Of shy reluctance reach your ear?

Anticipation fires the spirit,

O’erjoyed the groom… But lo! – the air

Is rent by thunder, ever nearer

It comes.