The Roussalka poem – Alexander Pushkin

A poem by Alexander Pushkin – Pouchkine, Pooshkin (1799-1837), in English translation

A LEGEND OF THE WATER-SPRITE

In forest depths, beside a mere,

A monk once made his habitation ;

Absorbed in penances severe,

In fast and prayer he sought salvation.

Already by his own poor spade

His grave was hollowed to receive him,

And every day the good saint prayed

That Heaven from earth would soon relieve him.

One summer’s eve, the hermit poor,

At prayer within his narrow room,

Looked out beyond his humble door

And saw the forest wrapped in gloom ;

Night-mists were rising from the mere,

Between the clouds the moon ‘gan peep;

The monk unto the pool drew near

And gazed into its waters deep.

He saw himself-drew back perturbed

By fears he ne’er had known before ;

For, lo, the waters were disturbed,

Then suddenly grew calm once more ;

“While fitful as a twilight shade,

Than virgin snow more purely white,

From out the pool appeared a maid

Approaching in the silver light.

She shook the bright drops from her hair

And gazed upon the anchorite ;

To look upon her form so fair

The good monk trembled with affright.

And he beheld her from afar

With head and hand strange signals make,

Then swifter than a shooting star

Dive back into the silent lake.

All night the hermit could not sleep,

All day in agony he prayed ;

But still he could not choose but keep

The image of that wondrous maid

Before him. So, when day did wane,

And overhead the moon was bright,

He watched, and saw her come again

In all her beauty, dazzling white.

She beckoned to him where he stood,

And gave him greeting glad and free.

She played and splashed about the flood,

She laughed and danced in childish glee,

As softly to the monk she cried :

” Come hither, monk, and join me here!”

Then suddenly she dipped to hide

Her beauty in the darkling mere.

The third day came-grown mad with love,

The hermit sought th’ enchanted shore

Ere yet night’s veil was drawn above,

And waited for the maid once more.

Dawn broke-the monk had disappeared . . .

And now the frightened children say

He haunts the pool: and lo! his beard

Floats on the water night and day.

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Poems in English 

• The Giver by Sara Teasdale by Sara Teasdale
• The Gift by Sara Teasdale by Sara Teasdale
• The Flight by Sara Teasdale by Sara Teasdale
• The Faery Forest by Sara Teasdale by Sara Teasdale
• The Dreams Of My Heart by Sara Teasdale by Sara Teasdale
• The Crystal Gazer by Sara Teasdale by Sara Teasdale
• The Coin by Sara Teasdale by Sara Teasdale
• The Cloud by Sara Teasdale by Sara Teasdale
• The Carpenter’s Son by Sara Teasdale by Sara Teasdale
• The Broken Field by Sara Teasdale by Sara Teasdale
• The Blind by Sara Teasdale by Sara Teasdale
• The Answer by Sara Teasdale by Sara Teasdale
• Spring In War Time by Sara Teasdale by Sara Teasdale
• Soul’s Birth by Sara Teasdale by Sara Teasdale
• A Song To Eleonora Duse In “Francesca da Rimini ” by Sara Teasdale by Sara Teasdale
• Song At Capri by Sara Teasdale by Sara Teasdale
• Since There Is No Escape by Sara Teasdale by Sara Teasdale
• The Return by Sara Teasdale by Sara Teasdale
• Pity by Sara Teasdale by Sara Teasdale
• Pierrot’s Song by Sara Teasdale by Sara Teasdale

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