III (the second variant)
In freshness between two hills there
Was hiding the holy nunnery, and trees -
The planes and poplars - as the watchmen
Surrounded it; sometimes when ravine
Was covered all with night, there shined
Through them in window of the monastic cell
The light of icon lamp of the sinner young.
Around in the shadow of almond-trees,
Where the crosses stand in their sad row -
That gardians of graves, the birds were singing
In their light and joyful choir.
On rocks there jumped the the noisy springs,
United in one cold wave
Under the beetling stones, they
As friends in gorge were farther streaming,
Along the bushes, flowers.
IY
To north the mountains were seen.
When shines the morning Aurora,
When the blue smoke sprawls within
The depth of valley, and the voices
Of muedzins, turned all to east,
Are calling for the praying oath,
And the sonorous bell's sound
Is shivering, waking the cloister;
In solemn and so peaceful hour
The georgian young, holding a jug,
Goes down the steep slope,
The icy tops of ridges coloured
At sunset all in scarlet shroud;
Among them, cutting clouds far,
And higher of all near mounts
Was towering pompously the true tzar -
Kazbek - in a brocade chasuble and turban.
Y
But full with thought, so criminal, unfair,
Tamara's heart is out of excitements.
All before her is dressed in shadow,
In gloomy veil, all 'round's guiding
For further torments - and the light
Of morning ray, and the black night.
And usually, when the dreamy night
Captives the earth with its cool grabbers,
She falls under the icon crazy
And bursts in tears, hardly cries;
In silence of the night that wail
Worries a traveller's attention,
And he thinks:"May be it's a Spirit,
Chained to a rock, is moaning, groaning!"
And straining cautiously his ear,
He sets spurs to his horse exhausted.
Full with a sadness and with shivering,
Tamara frequently is sitting
At windows, thinking alone
And looking all the distance over,
And all the day is sighing, waiting...
Someone is whispering: he'll enter!
And not without reason he appeared
In her dreams, tenderly caressing,
With eyes so sad, filled with a cheer,
With a delicate and gentle flattery.
So many days she is in lanquor,
Without knowing of the real base;
Wishes to pray to spirit holy-
But heart prays him nevetheless.
Being tired with the constant struggle,
Whether she goes to sleep on bed:
The pillow burns her, it's so stuffy,
And, scared, she gets up in tremble;
Her breast and shoulders are burning,
No power to breathe, and haze in eyes,
Embraces her seek meeting only,
And kisses melt on lips tonight.