I love my homeland, but strangely love it I!

I love my homeland, but strangely love it I!
Neither my mind can conquer it at all.
Nor blood-bought glory fights gives it sacrifice
Nor peace full of proud confidence in whole,
Nor dark antiquity cherished traditions
Do not stir in me a joyful dream emission.

But I do love - why, I don't know myself -
Cold silence of her steppes,
Its endless forests sway that’s blessing,
The floods of rivers like the seas’ surf stealth;
I like to ride in cart on winding country road
And, with a slow gaze piercing the shadow,
To meet on sides, sighing for chimney smoke,
The lights of the sad villages and meadows.
I love the smoke of burning harvest
In prairie carts left for the night among the shadows,
And on a hill in the middle of yellow fields
A couple of whitening birches in their crowns of leaves.
With joy to many unfamiliar
I watch a stackyard that is full
Hut, covered with straw, and there
Key patterned windows in the wall;
And on a holiday, in dewy evening,
Watch until midnight ready I’m
The dance with stamping and with whistling
Amidst the talk of drunken tribes.

(Ориг.: М.Ю.Лермонтов - Родина/Люблю отчизну я, но странною любовью)