Михаил Лермонтов – The Demon / Демон. Книга для чтения на английском языке (страница 9)
And so Tamara's family
To a far convent brought their child,
And there in all humility
In hair-shirt rough the maiden mild
Enrobed her youthful breast.
Yet in this harsh, monastic garb
Her troubled heart found no more rest
From dreams forbidden and debarred
Than clad in velvet or brocade.
Before the altar at the hour,
Of shining candles, solemn prayer,
Through the sweet chanting of the choir
Familiar speech would reach her ear
And there, beneath the cupola,
A well-known figure would appear
To glide by as the incense rose…
Soundless, he leaves no trace, but goes
Gleaming before her like a star
Calling and beckoning afar
But whither? Ah, that no one knows.
III
The holy convent was secluded
In a cool glen between two hills
By poplars and acacias ringed…
And, when the night sank weary-winged
To rest in the ravine, the grills
Of the young sister's cell would gleam
Out through their foliage fitfully.
Without, beneath the almond tree
In whose thin shade dark crosses brooded
Like silent watchers on the graves,
The merry birds made sweet conclaves
Of melody. The spring-cold streams
Leapt down from rock to rock, and sang,
Then merged beneath the overhang
To foam away in rapid rushes
Beneath the frosty-flowering bushes…
IV
Way to the north there was a view,
A glimpse of mountains. At day's dawning,
When curling mists of smoky blue
Rose from the hollows of the hills,
And from his minaret the priest,
His face towards the brightening East,
Called all his flock to prayer at morning,
Then, too, the trembling resonance
Of chapel bells awoke the cloister;
The solemn hour did but enhance
The stillness of the place, the calm…
Tamara at this hour came forth
Bearing a pitcher on one arm
And, treading where the mists grew lighter
Down the steep hillside stepped for water.
The snowy summits to the North
Showed violet against the sky
And flung a cloak of rosier dye
About their shoulders in the evening;
And there between them, upheaving
His head between the clouds, their Tsar,
Kazbek, in robes of silver weaving,
Towered up towards the polar star.
V
Yet, full of tainted thoughts, her mind
Is shuttered to such pure delights,
And all her heart is filled with night 
