The Demon

In those days, when life’s displays
moved me with their freshness still —
a young girl’s glance, the rustling glades,
the nightingale’s sweet midnight trill —
when elevated feelings shone,
freedom, glory, purest love,
and the Muse’s inspiration,
stirred profoundly in my blood —
my years of hope grew darker,
my joys were dimmed by longing,
for then some evil spirit started
to come to me in secret meeting.
The hours we spent were mournful:
his smile mysterious, and his gaze,
while his cold poison chilled my soul,
his caustic speech, his bitter ways.
With slander’s endless stream,
he tempted Providence;
called all beauty but a dream;
inspiration: mind robbed of sense;
he scorned both love and liberty;
the whole of life he ridiculed —
found not a single thing that he
might praise in all that Nature ruled.

Translated by A. S. Kline
(Clear Voices)

A.S. Pushkin. The Demon (“In those days, when life’s displays...”). Translated by A. S. Kline // Alexander Pushkin. Collected Works: Parallel Russian Text and English Translation.
© Электронная публикация — РВБ, 2022—2024. Версия 2.1 от 30 ноября 2023 г.