About you, that with a stinging rebuke,
Considering the grim disbelief defect,
Running in terror of, who in the first years
Crazy heart gratifying extinguished light;
The pride of a brutal frenzy:
He has the right to your condescension,
Pity on the tears; heed his brother moan,
Miserable not the villain, on a strazhdet.
Who in the world will delight the soul of its torment?
Alas! He lost his first consolation!
Take a look at it - is not there, where every day
Vanity at all suggests a false shadow,
But in the silence of the family, under the roof of the native,
In an interview with Commonwealth il a dark dream.
Find him there, where muddy creek
It passes slowly among naked fields;
Where centuries-old pines mysterious canopy,
Şumja, on wet moss bowed eternal shadows.
Look - he wanders with wilted soul,
His horribly tormented by emptiness,
That sadness tears pouring, the tears of regret.
In vain he seeks disheartened Entertainment;
Vain pomp-free simplicity
Nature's beauty in front of him opened;
To no avail himself round the sad eyes, he leads:
The mind seeks deity, but the heart does not find.

Overtake if his deaf Fates blow,
Otemletsya if suddenly minute gift happiness,
Whether in love, in kindness embrace it treason
And they will feel a misleading price:
Deprived of all poles O faithless faith son
Really sees with horror, that in the light he is one,
And a powerful hand to him with the gifts of the world
It does not extend from the outside world ...

unhappiness, Passions and infirmities sons,
We are all on a terrible coffin rodyas convicted.
Hourly mortal bonds of destruction ready;
Our age - the wrong day, hourly excitement.
When, cold darkness embracing threatening us,
The veil of eternity shakes the hour of death,
Awful feel tears last Flour -
And with the world begin to obscure separation!
Then, conversing with untethered soul,
About Vera, you are standing at the door of the coffin,
You gravestone night she quietly alight,
Hope and encouragement to let go ...
But, other! survive the terrible friends!
Only faith in the silence of his delight
Unyvshy revives the spirit and expectations of the heart.
"There will! - He speaks, - a date!»

And he (blind sage!), at the grave he moans,
With the delight of being unhappy separated,
I hope he does not hear the sweet greetings,
Coming to the tomb, he, No answer calls ...!

Eh you seen him in the silent places,
Where blood and friends of sacred smoldering ashes?
Eh you seen him over the cool grave,
Where lies the gentle Delia's ashes cute?
To the deceased called the evening silence,
By the cross He looked down insensible head
Groans are heard from time to time voiceless,
He was crying - but not the flow of tears liyutsya,
Which are sweet to the suffering of the eyes
And the heart of freedom of the road;
But the tears of despair, but fierce tears.
In the silence of terror, foolishly ysstuplenya
trembles, and meanwhile the shadow of dark ive,
At the grave knee mother kneeled,
There's a young virgin to sadness serene
Raises to the sky look sickly and tender,
One, the fog illuminated by the moon,
Like an angel she is grief;
sighs slowly, grave hugs -
All round the quiet of his, a, it seems, hearkened.
Unhappy at her in silence looks,
He shakes his head, trembles and flees,
He hastens further, but after wandering gloom.

Does Gd in the Temple with the crowd he silently enters,
There's only multiplies anguish of his soul.
When the lavish celebrations of ancient altars,
With the voice of the shepherd, with sweet singing choirs,
Worries his disbelief torment.
He mystery of God anywhere, never sees,
With pomerksheyu shrine soul will,
Cold to the whole and to Alien Affection
With chagrin, he quietly listens to supplications.
“lucky! - he thinks, - Mail is not possible for me
Rebellious passions in humble silence,
Forgetting about the mind and the weak and strict,
With only one faith down unto god!”

Unnecessary heart cry! not, not! not destined
He bliss to know! unbelief again,
On the path of life in the darkness of the leader dull,
Entails accident to the gates of the grave Frigid.
And calling his grave in the desert -
who knows? but there is only peace he sees.

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Alexander Pushkin
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