Mikhail Lermontov (–) came into the world at the same time as Byron’s Lara, whose brow could turn “almost to blackness in its demon. Mikhail Lermontov’s poem “Demon” was never published during his lifetime due to its excessive “diabolism.” This year, however, “Demon” was. LERMONTOV’Spoem ‘Demon’, at which he worked for most of his short life, has always been the subject of conflicting interpretations. It can be read as a.
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Do not know neither a malice, nor a doubt. And the centuries of the fruitless series is dismal Do not threaten to his mind And a lot of, a lot of II Long ago the rejected was wandered In the wilderness of the world without a shelter: After a century by a century fled, As for a minute a minute, By the monotonous succession.
Dominating the void earth, He sowed the evil without a delight. Nowhere to his art He had never meet a resistant – And the evil was bore him. Under him Kazbek, as a facet of the diamond, By the eternal snow shone, And, deep down be black, Like the crack, the home of the serpent, Radiant Daryal was curled, And Terek, jumping, like a lioness With the shaggy mane on the ridge, Was roared, – and the mountain beast and bird, Swirling in the azure height, To the water verb have listened; And the golden clouds From the southern countries, from afar To the North sent him; And the rocks by the tight crowd, Of the mysterious slumber are full, Over his head bent, Watching the flickering waves; The towers and castles on the rocks Looking menacingly through the fogs- At the gates of Caucasus on the clock The keeper giants!
And be wild and wonderful was around All God’s world; but the proud spirit By the contemptuous eye was looked around The creation of his God, And on his forehead high Do not influence anything. IV And before him the other paintings The beauty living blooms: The luxurious Georgia valley By the carpet was stretched away; The happy, lush edge of the earth! The column- viewed raine. The ring-flowing water At the bottom of the colored stones, And the booths of the roses, where the nightingales Sing the beauty-ines, unanswered To the sweet voice of their love; The chinar shady porchs, Crowned by the thick ivy.
The caves, where by the scorching day The deers are timid; And the shine, and the life, and the noise of the leafs, The hundred sounds dialect of the voices, The breath of the thousands of a plants! And the half day lascivious heat, And by the aromas dew Always the humidified night, And the stars are bright as the eyes, As the sight of the young Georgian! But, in the addition to the cold envy, The nature of the glint does not stirred In the barren chest of the exile No a new feelings, no a new forces; And all that was before him he saw, He despised or hated.
V The tall house, the wide courtyard Grey-haired Gudal to himself built The works and tears it had a lot of cost To the obedient servants since the past time. In the morning on the slope of the neighbouring mountains From its walls the shadows lay. In the rock the chop-ed steeps; Its rows from the corner tower, Leads to the river, gleaming on its, Covered by the white veil of the gauze, Young princess Tamara To Aragva walks for water.
VI Always silently in the valley The gloomy house looking from the crag; But the great feast is today in it – The zurna sounds, and the wine poured – Gudal betrothed his daughter, On the feast he called all family. On the roof, covered by the carpets, The bride sits between the girlfriends: Among the games and songs their leisure Passes. By the far mountains Yet hidden the sun Crescent had; In the palm do steady beat, They sing- and her drum The young bride takes.
Demon (poem) – Wikipedia
And now she is, by one hand Circling over him head, So suddenly rush by the easier birds, So stops, looks – And her wet sight shine Under the envious xemon So by the black eyebrow drive, So suddenly bowed a little, And on the carpet slides, swimming Her divine foot; And she smiles, The fun child is full. But the ray of the moonlight, on the shaky moisture Playing sometimes a little, Barely doesnt compare with that smile, As the life, as the youth, living VII I swear by the midnight star, By the ddemon of the sunset and the East, The prince of golden Persia And none king of the earth Do not kiss this kind eye.
The harem splashes fountain Never in the heat times By the pearl dew Do not washed this camp! Still the none hand of the earth, By the lovely forehead go wandering, Do not unravel such hair; Since that times as the world lost the Paradise, I swear, the beauty-ine of this kind Under the sun of the South is not bloomed.
VIII The last time she danced. The freedom fast child, The sad fate of the slave is, The Motherland alien till nowaday, And the stranger family. And often the secret doubt Do dark the bright features; And were all her movements So slim, full of the expression, So full of the sweet simplicity, What if the Demon, flying, At that time do looked her, Then, the former brethren, remembering, He would turned away – and have sighed IX And the Demon saw For a moment The indescribable excitement In himself he felt suddenly.
Mikhail Lermontov’s 13 demons
The mute desert of his soul Filled the Holy sound – And again he destin-ate the Shrine Of the love, goodness, and beauty! And for a long time by the sweet picture He admired – and the dreams On the same happiness by the long chain, Like a star go for the star, Before him rolled then. The chained by the unseen force, He with the new sadness was know; In him the feeling suddenly spoke By the native some-when language.
So was neither a sign of the reviving?
The words of the insidious temptation He find in him mind couldn’t A lermontkv I gave not God: Yes he would not leermontov an oblivion! X Br uising the good horse, To the marriage feast on the sunset of the day Hurry the impatient groom go. Light Aragva, he happily Reached the green banks. Under the heavy burden of the gifts Barely, barely re-steping, For him the camels of a long series By the road stretches, flickering: Its bells are ringing.
He himself, Prince of Sinodal. Leads the rich caravan. The belt is tightened the agile camp; The rim sword and dagger Shining in the sun; behind A gun with a carving notch. The wind plays by the sleeves Of him chukhi, – around all it Impose by the lace. By the colored silks embroidered His saddle; the bridle with the tassels; Under him all in a lather the horse dashing Of the precious ointment, gold.
The frisky pet of Karabakh Spinning by the ears and full of a fear, Ripple do askance at the precipice On the foam of the leaping waves.
The dangerous narrow the way coastal is! The cliffs on the left side, To the right the depth of the river rebellious. It is too late. At the top of the snow The glow extinguished; the fog rose The caravan added step. XI And here the chapel on the road Since then, to cemon feast or to the battle, Where the traveler would not hurry, Always the fervent prayer He at the chapel brought; And that prayer have care From the Muslim dagger.
But despised the dashing groom have The custom of their grand-grandfathers. Of him by the lermotov dream The evil Demon troubled: He in the thoughts, under the darkness of the night, Have kissed the lips of the bride. Suddenly forward two ones glimpse, And more – shot! Standing on the ringing stirrups, Pulled over his eyebrows caps, The brave Prince had not said a word; In his hand the flashed Turkish trunk, The nagaycka flick ya i, like an eagle, He rushed And the wild scream and deaf moan Have flashed in the bottom of the valley – Long continued the battle is: XII Quiet is all; the crowding by the crowd, On the corpses of the riders sometimes The camels with the horror have looking; And muffled in the silence of the steppe Their bells rang.
Sacked the lush caravan was; And over the bodies of the Christians The circles the night bird draw! Not waiting for their the peaceful lermomtov were Under the layer of the monastic plates, Where the ashes of their fathers was buried; The sisters and mothers don’t come, Covered by the long veils, With the sorrow, weeping and pleading, On the coffin of them from the far places!
Mikhail Lermontov’s 13 demons – Russia Beyond
But by the earnest hand Here dekon the road, over the rock To the memory the cross will stand; And the ivy prospering in the spring, Him, caressing, encircle His emerald net; And, turned from the difficult road, Not once the tired pedestrian Under the shadow of God’s will rest XIII The horse rushing faster the lany. Snoring and torn, as to the war; So suddenly rein the galloping, Listen to the breeze, Wide the nostrils flaring; So, once in the land do striking By the spikes of the ring hooves, Waving by the disheveled mane, Forward without a memory flies.
In him the rider silent is! He beating on the saddle sometimes, Leaning on the mane by his head. He does not rule by the reins, Sliding his feet in the stirrups, And the blood by the broad jets On the cherpack is visible. The racer dashing, you lemrontov the master From the battle rendered as the arrow, But the evil bullet to Ossetian Him in the darkness caught up!
Whose the horse came burned in And fell on the stones at the gate?
Who is this the lifeless rider? Keep the trace of the abusive anxiety The lermotnov of his dark leemontov. Not long the young groom, Bride, her sight have expected: He kept the princely word, At the wedding feast he rode in XV For a carefree family Like a bolt the God’s judgment flew!
Fell on her bed, Crying poor Tamara; The tear rolls down for a tear, The chest is high and difficult breathing; And now she is seemed to hear The magic voice over de,on Your tear on the corpse unvoiced By the living dew will not fall: Only the eye It is clogged clear. The virgin cheeks it burns! He is far away, he lermpntov know, Do not appreciate your longing; The light of heaven now caresses The unseen look of his eye; He hear the paradise melodies What are the petty dreams of life, And the tears and moan a poor maiden For the visitor of the Paradise side?
No, the lots of the mortal creation Believe me, my angel of the earth, Not worth a moment Your sadness is dear! On the air ocean, Without a rudder and without a sail, Quietly floating in the mist The slender choirs of the luminaries; Among the un-revewed fields In the sky go without a trace The elusive clouds Fibrous herd.
The hour of the separation, the farewell hour I am To them neither a joy nor a sorrow; Them in the future no an ambition And the past is not a pity. On the day of the lingering misery You’re about them only remember; Be to the earthed without a partify And careless as they are!
As only the gold month From behind a mountain quietly stand And on you stole look, – To you I will come fly; Come and stay I’ll be until the morning star And on the silk eyelashes The golden dreams to evoke She, jumping up, looks around The inexpressible confusion In her breast; the sadness, the fear, The delight ardour – nothing to compare.
All the feelings in her boil suddenly; The soul break her chains The fire through the veins ran, And this voice is wonder-new, To her seemed was, still go sounded. And before the morning the desire sleep Have boundary the tired eyes; But lermkntov thought her he was outraged By the prophetic and strange dream. The mute and misty stranger By the beauty go glint unearthly, To her have bowed the head; And his sight with such love, So sad do looked at her, As though he’s about her have sorry.
That one was not the angel of the celestial. The crown of the rainbow rays Have not graced his curls. That one was not the terrible hell spirit, The vicious martyr ‘ Oh, no!
He was like the evening is clear: