Native to Spain ...


Native to Spain
Moor called Yulyan.
Count of personal insult
I decided to take revenge on the king.

His daughter was kidnapped Rodrik,
Defiled ancient family;
That's what betrayed the fatherland
Riley Julian.

Moors poured in
On ispanskie coast.
Passing the kingdom gotfov,
And from the throne fell Rodrik.

Gotfy not fell ingloriously:
Hrabro fought îíè,
Moors long doubted,
Overcome someone who.

The battle lasted for eight days;
The dispute was finally resolved:
I was caught on the battlefield
Favorite horse king;

Helmet and sword his hard.
They were found in the dust.
King pochli killed,
And no pity on.

But Rodrik still alive,
He fought all eight days -
He first wanted to victory,
There too the death of a hungry.

And the circle of arrows whistled,
Not his kasayasya,
Darts flying past,
Helmet sword cleaving.

at last, wearied,
Dismounted Rodrik,
Sword with bloodstained
From palm to unstick,

I tossed about zem feathered helmet
And shiny armor.
And saved the darkness of the night
On the battlefield he left.


From the bloody battle fields
deleted Rodrik;
King ahead
The news of his death.

The elderly and the poor women
At the crossroads he sees;
All the crowd fled from the Moors
For the fortified cities.

All, sobbing, pray god
For the salvation of Christians,
All Roderick curse;
And he hears the curse.

And with bowed head
Past them go in a hurry,
And do not even dare to utter:
Pray for him.

Finally, on the sea shore
On the third day he comes.
He sees a dark cave
On a deserted beach.

In that cave, he finds
Cross and spade - and in the corner
The corpse of a hermit and a hole,
They pitted for a long time.

Corruptible corpse did not touch,
It lies okostenev,
waiting for burial
And the prayer of Christians.

The corpse of the hermit in prayer
king Shoronyl,
And he settled in a cave
Over the grave ego.

He began to eat fruits
And water key;
And dug its own grave,
Like its predecessor,.

King in seclusion
He became wicked tempt,
And vision Night
Short sleep his muddy.

He wakes up with a shudder,
Full of fear and shame;
rapture temptation
Crushes his spirit.

He wants to pray to God
And it can not. the demon him
Whispers in the ears sounds of battle
Or passionate words.

He fainted holds
Days and real nochi,
His eyes fixed on the sea,
remembering the old days.


but the hermit, whose remains
He diligently buried,
For it before Almighty
I stood up in the sky.

In the dream blessed
He was king,
White robe blanket
And radiance surrounded.

And the king, aghast,
Threw down before him,
And he was saying 'man:
“Stand up - and the world once again come forth.

You lost the royal crown,
But the Lord thy hand
It gives victory over enemies,
A shower thy rest”.

Probudyas, Lord's will
Serdcem on urazumel,
AND, parting with desolation,
The path went King.

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Alexander Pushkin
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