The hills of Georgia greet the gloomy night
And the Aragva roars beneath me.
I feel so sad and free; my sorrow's bright;
It's overfilled with you, believe me,
With you, and only you... My melancholy
Is undisturbed and peaceful today,
My heart now burns anew and loves in folly,
And all because it knows no other way.
1829
By Alexander Pushkin
Translation by Andrey Kneller
A few years ago,
There whereas, plums, noise,
Embraced, like the two sisters,
The streams of Aragva and Kura
There was the monastery. Beside the mountain
And now the pedestrian sees
The pillars of the collapsed gate,
And the tower and the church vault;
But not much is smoked under it
The spoons bless fragrant smoke,
Not to hear the singing in the late hour
Of the begging monks for us.
Now the gray-haired old man,
The half-dead guard of the ruins,
By the people and by the death is forgotten,
Sweeps away the dust from the gravestones,
Whose the inscription says
About the glory of the past - and about that
How depressed by his crown,
Same king, in same year,
To Russia have handed his people.
And God's grace come in
At Georgia! It is blossomed
Since then, in the shadow of their gardens,
Do not fear of an enemies
Behind the face of the friendly bayonets.
By Mikhail Lermontov “The novice”