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 

• Sonnet 48: How careful was I, when I took my way by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 47: Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 46: Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 45: The other two, slight air and purging fire by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 44: If the dull substance of my flesh were thought by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 43: When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 42: That thou hast her, it is not all my grief by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 41: Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 40: Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 3: Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 39: O, how thy worth with manners may I sing by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 38: How can my Muse want subject to invent by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 37: As a decrepit father takes delight by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 36: Let me confess that we two must be twain by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 35: No more be grieved at that which thou hast done by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 34: Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 33: Full many a glorious morning have I seen by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 74: But be contented when that fell arrest by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 72: O, lest the world should task you to recite by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare

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