In a barren desert, the scanty land,
On a ground, burned by sun to total,
Anchar, as one of the safeguards stand
Alone in this endless world.

The nature of the hungry steppes
Had born a tree in a state of anger,
Filled with a poison its green crest,
Its roots completely satiated.

The poison drips along the bark,
Melting to liquid by a heat,
Then goes rough in the evening time
As a transparent thick pitch.

No any bird is flying to
Or tiger coming near — wind
Touches the poison-tree in move
And flies away, transforms to evil.

And if a cloud in the rove
Waters the leaf by a sudden rain,
The poisoned liquor from a bough
Eventually trickles into sand.

But one man forced the other man
To go to anchar by a killing gaze,
A slave obediently went
And brought the poison in next day.

He brought the mortal tar and rame
With the faded leaves, his pale forehead
Was grooved all with a cold sweat
Which flowed down his ill body.

He brought, grew feeble and lay still
Under the vault of the tzar hovel,
And died then at the mighty feet
A poor slave without fortune.

The tzar had saturated well
With poison his obedient arrows
And sent them as the fatal death
To all the neighbour countries alien.

Translated by Lyudmila Purgina

A.S. Pushkin. Anchar (“In a barren desert, the scanty land...”). Translated by Lyudmila Purgina // Alexander Pushkin. Collected Works: Parallel Russian Text and English Translation.
© Электронная публикация — РВБ, 2022—2024. Версия 2.1 от 30 ноября 2023 г.