A Jewish Melody

Byron's verse modified by Lermontov)

My soul is dark. Quickly, singer, quickly!
Here's your golden harp;
Let thy fingers fling over it,
Awakening the sounds of Paradise.
And if my hopes weren't taken away forever by fate,
They shall rise up within my soul;
And if there still remain some tears in my glazed eyes,
They shall unfreeze and flow forth.

Let your song be wild. My poet's wreath
And sounds of joy weigh heavily upon me!
I tell thee, singer: I must weep,
Or else this heart will burst, full of pain.
It has been nursed by suffering,
Ached long in silence;
And now the terrible hour has come: it overflows
With poison, as a chalice of Death.

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