«Two Pigeons» in Russian

There lived two pigeons; each to each was dear as borther; They would not eat or drink, the one without the other.

Wherever on might be, his mate was surely there; Come grief, come happiness, in all they loved to share.

They never took account how quick the hours went past; Its shadow sorrow threw, but dullness never cast.

Now where could either find delight Without his sweetheart and his friend?

Yet no: one birdie yearned to take a distant flight And get to know by sight The wide world’s wonders without end, Distinguish false from true, sift fact from idle tale.

“How can you,’ says his mate, with plaintive wail,

“Oh why go roaming far from here?

Or do you want to leave your dear?

O shame upon you!

If you don’t mind if I cry; Think of the ravening birds, the dreadful storms, the traps.

A journey’s manifold mishaps!

Or wait at least till spring, before so far you fly.

I promise to agree, whatever then you would; But now our stock of food so pitiful and small!

And there! You heard the raven call?

Be sure that bodes no good; Oh stay at home, my dear one, do!

I am so happy here with you!

I cannot see what need to haste this journey on; And life will be so sad, the moment you are gone.

The traps, the birds of prey, the lightning – dearie me!

Each night in all my dreams they’ll be.

The fear of your distress will never leave my brain; The smallest cloud that’s overhead,

“Where is he?”

I shall say, and fancy you are dead; Or haven’t food to eat, or shelter fom the rain.”

Her friend is quite upset to hear her speaking so; He pities her at heart, but dearly longs to go.

The wish in all his hopes, in all his thoughts appears.

“Don’t cry, my pretty one,” ‘tis so he calms her fears,

“For just three days, no more, I’ll go a-wandering: I’ll notice everything so quickly as I fly, And when I’ve seen the sights, - the ones that catch my eye, I’ll soon be back again beneath my dear one’s wing.

Then think of what a road there’ll be for us to trace!

I’ll not miss out an hour; I’ll mention every place; There’s nought you shall not hear, - their doings and their ways, And every marvel that I see,

“Twill almost as I talk, lie there beneath your gaze, As if you too had flown all round the world with me.”

Well, there is was!

The friends exchanged a kiss sad-hearted, And said good-by and parted.

Our traveler’s on the wing; rain pelts; the storm winds blow him; The blue steppe, like a sea, lies bare all round below him.

Where shall he turn?

Good luck! A withered oak is near.

Our little pigeon finds a foothold here, And clings to it in fear; But from the biting blast it lends but meager shelter; He shivers, he’s wet through; the rain pours helter-skelter:- At last the storm dies down.

The sun is hardly shining, Our poor persistent bird for further flights is pining.