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

A flash! The lamp goes out,

The room sways, darkness all about,

Smoke pours… Fear grips Ruslan, defeating

His native pluck: his heart stops beating…

All’s silence, grim and threatening.

An eerie voice sounds twice. There rises

Up through the haze a menacing

Black figure… Coiling smoke disguises

Its shape… It vanishes… Now our

Poor groom, on his brow drops of sweat,

Starts up. By sudden dread beset,

And for his bride – O fateful hour! —

With trembling hand gropes anxiously…

On emptiness he seizes, she

Has by some strange and evil power

Been borne away… He’s overcome…

Ah, if to be love’s martyr some

Unfortunate young swain is fated,

His days may well be filled with gloom,

But life can still be tolerated.

But if in your arms, after years

Of longing, of desire, of tears,

Your bride of but one minute lies

And then becomes another’s prize,

’Tis much too much… Quite frankly, I,

Were such my case, would choose to die!

But poor Ruslan’s alive and tortured

In mind and heart… O’erwhelmed by news,

Just then arrived, of the misfortune,

The Prince, enraged, turns on the youth.

The whole court summoning, “Ludmila…

Where is Ludmila?” thunders he.

Ruslan does not respond. “My children!

Your merits past high hold I… Free,

I beg, my daughter from the clutches

Of evil. I am helpless; such is

Old age’s piteous frailty.

But though I am too old to do it,

Not so are you.

My poor Ludmila, you’ll not rue it:

He who succeeds, shall – writhe, you knave!

Why did you not, wretch, base tormentor,

Know how to guard your young wife better?

Shall have Ludmila for a bride

And half my fathers’ realm beside!…

Who’ll heed my plea?” “I!” says the grieving,

Unhappy groom. “I!” shouts Rogdai,

And echoed by Farlaf his cry

And by Ratmir is. “We are leaving

Straightway, and pray believe us, sire,

We’ll ride around the world entire

If need be.

Not long will you be, never fear.”

The old prince cannot speak for tears;

His gratitude is mute; sad-hearted,

A broken man, at door he stands

And to them stretches out his hands.

All four the palace leave together;

Ruslan is ashen-faced, half-dead.

Thoughts of his kidnapped bride, of whether

He’ll ever find the maid, with dread

And pain his heart fill.