With what a deadly sore my soul doth smart;
My heart, with venom filled, doth like a hammer
Beat in mine ears reproach; all things revolt me,
And my head whirls, and in my eyes are children
Dripping with blood; and gladly would I flee,
But nowhere can find refuge--horrible!
My heart, with venom filled, doth like a hammer
Beat in mine ears reproach; all things revolt me,
And my head whirls, and in my eyes are children
Dripping with blood; and gladly would I flee,
But nowhere can find refuge--horrible!
Pushkin - Boris Gudonov
In vain the wizards
Promise me length of days, days of dominion
Immune from treachery--not power, not life
Gladden me; I forebode the wrath of Heaven
And woe. For me no happiness. I thought
To satisfy my people in contentment,
In glory, gain their love by generous gifts,
But I have put away that empty hope;
The power that lives is hateful to the mob,--
Only the dead they love. We are but fools
When our heart vibrates to the people's groans
And passionate wailing. Lately on our land
God sent a famine; perishing in torments
The people uttered moan. The granaries
I made them free of, scattered gold among them,
Found labour for them; furious for my pains
They cursed me! Next, a fire consumed their homes;
I built for them new dwellings; then forsooth
They blamed me for the fire! Such is the mob,
Such is its judgment! Seek its love, indeed!
I thought within my family to find
Solace; I thought to make my daughter happy
By wedlock. Like a tempest Death took off
Her bridegroom--and at once a stealthy rumour
Pronounced me guilty of my daughter's grief--
Me, me, the hapless father! Whoso dies,
I am the secret murderer of all;
I hastened Feodor's end, 'twas I that poisoned
My sister-queen, the lowly nun--all I!
Ah! Now I feel it; naught can give us peace
Mid worldly cares, nothing save only conscience!
Healthy she triumphs over wickedness,
Over dark slander; but if in her be found
A single casual stain, then misery.
With what a deadly sore my soul doth smart;
My heart, with venom filled, doth like a hammer
Beat in mine ears reproach; all things revolt me,
And my head whirls, and in my eyes are children
Dripping with blood; and gladly would I flee,
But nowhere can find refuge--horrible!
Pitiful he whose conscience is unclean!
TAVERN ON THE LITHUANIAN FRONTIER
MISSAIL and VARLAAM, wandering friars; GREGORY in secular attire; HOSTESS
HOSTESS. With what shall I regale you, my reverend
honoured guests?
VARLAAM. With what God sends, little hostess. Have you
no wine?
HOSTESS. As if I had not, my fathers! I will bring it at
once. (Exit. )
MISSAIL. Why so glum, comrade? Here is that very
Lithuanian frontier which you so wished to reach.
GREGORY. Until I shall be in Lithuania, till then I shall not
Be content.
Promise me length of days, days of dominion
Immune from treachery--not power, not life
Gladden me; I forebode the wrath of Heaven
And woe. For me no happiness. I thought
To satisfy my people in contentment,
In glory, gain their love by generous gifts,
But I have put away that empty hope;
The power that lives is hateful to the mob,--
Only the dead they love. We are but fools
When our heart vibrates to the people's groans
And passionate wailing. Lately on our land
God sent a famine; perishing in torments
The people uttered moan. The granaries
I made them free of, scattered gold among them,
Found labour for them; furious for my pains
They cursed me! Next, a fire consumed their homes;
I built for them new dwellings; then forsooth
They blamed me for the fire! Such is the mob,
Such is its judgment! Seek its love, indeed!
I thought within my family to find
Solace; I thought to make my daughter happy
By wedlock. Like a tempest Death took off
Her bridegroom--and at once a stealthy rumour
Pronounced me guilty of my daughter's grief--
Me, me, the hapless father! Whoso dies,
I am the secret murderer of all;
I hastened Feodor's end, 'twas I that poisoned
My sister-queen, the lowly nun--all I!
Ah! Now I feel it; naught can give us peace
Mid worldly cares, nothing save only conscience!
Healthy she triumphs over wickedness,
Over dark slander; but if in her be found
A single casual stain, then misery.
With what a deadly sore my soul doth smart;
My heart, with venom filled, doth like a hammer
Beat in mine ears reproach; all things revolt me,
And my head whirls, and in my eyes are children
Dripping with blood; and gladly would I flee,
But nowhere can find refuge--horrible!
Pitiful he whose conscience is unclean!
TAVERN ON THE LITHUANIAN FRONTIER
MISSAIL and VARLAAM, wandering friars; GREGORY in secular attire; HOSTESS
HOSTESS. With what shall I regale you, my reverend
honoured guests?
VARLAAM. With what God sends, little hostess. Have you
no wine?
HOSTESS. As if I had not, my fathers! I will bring it at
once. (Exit. )
MISSAIL. Why so glum, comrade? Here is that very
Lithuanian frontier which you so wished to reach.
GREGORY. Until I shall be in Lithuania, till then I shall not
Be content.
