К Наталье - пер. А. С. Пушкина

To Natalia

by Alexander Pushkin


From Caton's resigned and perished,
Now I am Seladon!
Priestess pretty, oh you Talia!
I've seen Natalia charming,
In my heart - God Cupidon!

So, Natalia! I admit you,
I'm the captivated one,
For the first time, shamely, too,
I love charms of feminine.
All the day, despite of vanity,
I think only of you;
In the night - the same calamity:
In my dreams it's only you,
In light gown, kind immensly,
Shy and sweet by breathing fine,
Shivering in your chest, and as
Pure snow white and light,
Semi-opened your deep eyes,
Modest darkness of mute night -
All this raise me to delight!

I'm alone in the arbour
With her, virgin lily, there
I'm dumb, I'm trembling, craving...
But awakened... Only dark
Round the lonely bed is curling!
I'm exhaling out a sigh,
Lazily the dream's flying up
On its wings, away thus going
Then my passion goes stronger,
But I'm tired, and again
I'm becoming weaker then.
So mind aspires something...
What? - No one of us
Would say this to ladies loud,
But would smear this so fast:
I'll express this and at last!

All the lovers wish to have
Something imperceptible;
That's their quality - alas!
Putting on the shapeless cloths,
With a cap turned on the side,
I would like as Philimon,
Having waited evening time,
When the twilight is all over,
Take the gentle hand of girl,
Called Anyuta, say to her
Words of love, repeating bold,
That she does belong to me!

That she just to me belong!
Oh, Nazora! I do wish being captivated so
By your looking pretty, more
Being Trustee of Rosina,
Light and tiny in my dreaming,
Old stepson of the fate,
In the caftan and the wig
With impudent, ardent hand
Touching white and heavy breast...
I'm daring... Anyhow by my feet
Couldn't I cross such a sea.
Though I'm in love "to ears",
But departed and in fears,
Disappointed at all, dear.

But, Natalia! You don't know,
Who is then your Seladon,
You don't understand,
Why so he is shy, and couldn't dare?
Oh Natalia! Please hear
Me, I'm not the owner
Of Seral, I'm not a negro,
Not a Turkish man, indeed,
Not a polite chinese man,
Not a rude American,
Not a German to imagine
With a cap on his big head,
With a beer in his mug,
With a sigar in his mouth.
I'm not a cavalierguard
In a helmet with a sable,
I don't like the battle's thunder:
An alebard ar even a sword
Don't aggravate my hand
By the sins of man Adam.

- But, who's you, the talker- lover?
Look at walls, that here are towering,
Where the darkness mute exists;
Look at windows in a grid,
At the icon lamp still firing...
I'm... monk! Oh my Natalia!

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