Page:Poems, Alexander Pushkin, 1888.djvu/170

164 And free and strong then would I be

Like a storm the fields updigging,

Forest-trees uprooting.

But here 's the trouble: if crazy once,

A fright thou art like pestilence,

And locked up now shalt thou be.

To a chain thee, fool, they 'll fasten

And through the gate, a circus beast,

Thee to nettle the people come.

And at night not hear shall I

Clear the voice of nightingale

Nor the forest's hollow sound,

But cries alone of companions mine

And the scolding guards of night

And a whizzing, of chains a ringing.