They four go outdoors; Ruslan
Is dismal in his mood, as dead;
Again the thought of his lost bride
Is torturing him, turning him sad.
They straddle their zealous horses;
Along the banks of the river Dnepr
They fly in clouds of dust swirling;
And hide themself in distance well;
You can't see there riders more...
But long and long the old knyaz
Is looking after them in field,
That is empty now, with his mind,
With thoughths he tries
to follow them...
Все четверо... - РиЛ, п. 1, перевод А. С. Пушкина
© Copyright: Людмила 31, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112071606895
Свидетельство о публикации №112071606895
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