Book: Ruslan and Lyudmila

I left a secret genius
And fancies and sweet thoughts;
Love and hedonism
One haunting my mind.

Why would destiny not destined
My fickle lyre
Heroism sing one
And it (the unknown world)
The love and friendship of old age?
The sad truth of the poet,
Why I should for posterity
Vice and malice Stripping
Secrets and the machinations of treachery
Truthful songs to denounce?

Soul tired of battle glory
Blank and baleful Ghost,
Believe me: innocent fun
The love and peace of the oaks
Dearer to the heart a hundred times.

Ah, my sweet Princess!
I like her, just more expensive:
She is sensitive, modest,
Conjugal love is true,
A little bit windy... so what?
Even nicer that it.

And days running; yellow fields;
From the trees drops the decrepit sheet;
In the woods the autumn wind whistle
The birds drowns out the singers,
Heavy cloudy fog
Naked hills encircles.

The reason in the world to live tells.

Worthy of crying my lot.

And the handsome Prince was not slack,
Not that the hero of our days.

Never laughing, fear not joint.

In vain you in the shadows lurked
For a peaceful, happy friends,
The verses are mine! You are veiled
From the angry envy of the eyes.
Really pale critic, in her service,
Question I made the fatal:
Why Ruslanova friend
How would laugh her spouse,
I call virgin and княжной7
You see, my good reader.
Here rage black print.

Still I have my trusty sword,
Still the head did not fall off my shoulders.

And every horse, not sensing steel
At will the path chose him.

Satisfied that the rights of the soul,
In humble meekness silent.

I'm going, going, not whistle
But as you drive, not pull.