Текст песни Иннокентий Смоктуновский - Пушкин А. С. Евгений Онегин. Глава 7

CHAPTER SEVEN
Moscow, Russian daughter is loved,
Where to find you equal?
Dmitriev.

How not to love the native of Moscow?
Baratynsky.

Goneny on Moscow! what it means to see the light!
                Where is better?
                                 Where we are not.
Griboedov.

I
Persecuted by spring rays,
From the surrounding mountains already snow
Run off in muddy streams
On the drowned meadows.
A clear smile nature
Through the dream meets the morning of the year;
Blue shine heaven.
Still transparent, forests
As if down to green.
Bee for field tribute
Flies from a wax cell.
Valleys dry and mottled;
The herds rustle and the nightingale
Already sang in the silence of the nights.
II
How sad is your appearance to me
Spring, spring! time for love!
What a languid excitement
In my soul, in my blood!
With some heavy emotion
I enjoy the breath
In my face a breezy spring
In the lap of rural silence!
Or pleasure is alien to me,
And everything that pleases lives
All that rejoices and shines
Boredom and languor
Per capita for a long time
And everything seems dark to her?
III
Or, not rejoicing
Dead sheets in the fall,
We remember the bitter loss
Listening to the new noise of the forest;
Or with nature lively
Pulling together confused
We are withering of our years,
Who is no rebirth?
Perhaps in our thoughts comes
Amid the poetic dream
Another old spring
And in awe the heart leads us
The dream of the far side,
About a wonderful night, about the moon ...
IV
Here is the time: good sloths,
Epicurean sages,
You indifferent lucky ones
You, schools Levshina 41 chicks,
You village Priamy,
And you, sensitive ladies,
Spring to the village is calling you,
It's time to heat, colors, works,
It's time inspired walks
And seductive nights.
In the fields, friends! rather, soon,
In the carriages, heavily loaded,
On long il on postage
Reach out of the grad.
V
And you, the benevolent reader,
In his wheelchair
Leave hail unruly,
Where did you have fun in the winter;
With my muse wayward
Come listen to the noise of the grove
Over the nameless river
In the village where my Eugene,
Hermit idle and dull,
More recently lived in the winter
In the neighborhood of Tanya is young,
My dreamer is cute,
But where is it now no longer ...
Where sad he left a mark.
VI
Between the mountains, lying in a semicircle,
Let's go where the trickle
Beaming, running in a green meadow
To the river through the lime forest.
There is a nightingale, spring lover,
Sings all night; rosehip blooms
And the key talk is heard, -
There is a coffin stone
In the shade of two pines obsolete.
The inscription to the newcomer says:
"Vladimir Lensky lies here,
Dead by the death of the brave
In such and such year, such and such years.
Rest, young poet! ”
VII
On the pine branch bend,
Used to be an early breeze
Over that humble urn
Rocked a mysterious wreath.
Used to be in late leisure
Two friends went here
And on the grave at the moon,
Embracing, they cried.
But now ... the monument is bleak
Forgotten To him the usual trace
Stalled. There is no wreath on the branch;
Alone, under him, gray and frail
Shepherd still sings
And shoes poor weaves.
Viii. Ix. X
My poor Lensky! languishing
Not for long she cried.
Alas! young bride
His sorrow is not true.
Another attracted her attention,
Another managed her misery
Love flattery,
Ulan knew how to captivate her,
Ulan love her soul ...
And so with him before the altar
She is shy under the crown
Standing with bowed head
With fire in the lowered eyes,
With a slight smile on his lips.
Xi
My poor Lensky! behind the grave
Within eternity deaf
Was embarrassed, the singer is sad,
Treason fatal,
Or asleep over Summer
Poet, insensitivity blissful,
I'm not confused by anything
And the world is closed to him and him? ..
So! indifferent oblivion
Behind the coffin awaits us.
Enemies, friends, mistresses, voice
Suddenly silent. About one name
Heirs angry chorus
Turns into an obscene dispute.
Xii
And soon Olya’s sonorous voice
In the family Larin silent.
Ulan, his slave share,
I had to go with her to the regiment.
Tears bleeding deeply,
The old woman, saying goodbye to her daughter
It seemed to be a little alive,
But Tanya could not cry;
Only mortal pallor was covered
Her sad face.
When everyone went out on the porch,
And all, saying goodbye, fussed
Around the carriage of the young,
Tatiana spent them.
XIII
And long, as if through fog,
She watched them go ...
And one, one Tatyana!
Alas! girlfriend for so many years
Her little dove is young
Her confidante dear,
Destiny far into the distance,
With her forever separated.
Like a shadow she wanders without a purpose
That looks into the empty garden ...
Nowhere, in nothing she is not pleased,
And does not find relief
She suppressed tears,
And the heart is torn in half.
Xiv
And lonely cruel
Her passion burns stronger
And about Onegin far
Her heart speaks louder.
She will not see him;
She should hate him
His brother's killer;
The poet died ... but his
No one remembers anything else
His bride gave herself.
Poet memory flashed
Like smoke across the blue sky,
About him two hearts maybe
Still sad ... What sad? ..
Xv
It was evening. The sky was fading. Water
Flowed quietly. The beetle was buzzing.
Already diverging dances;
Already across the river, smoking, burning
Fire fishing In the clean field
The moon in silver light
Immersed in your dreams
Tatiana walked alone for a long time.
It was walking. And suddenly in front of him
From the hill the lord sees