The Flight

The Caucasus - Ivan Aivazovsky

The Flight

Softly into the saddle

Of my black horse with white feet;

Your brothers are frowning

And grasping swords in sleep.

My rifle is as clean as moonlight,

My flints are new;

My long grey sword is sighing

In his blue sheath.

Fatima gave me my grey sword

Of Temrouk steel,

Damascened in red gold

To cut a pathway for the feet of love.

My eye is dark and keen,

My hand has never trembled on the sword.

If your brothers rise and follow

On their stormy horses,

If they stretch their hot hands

To catch you from my breast,

My rifle shall not sing to them,

My steel shall spare.

My rifle’s song is for my yellow girl,

My eye is dark and keen,

I’ll send my bullet to the fairest heart

That ever lady loved with in the world.

My hand upon the sword

Shall be so strong,

He’ll find the little laughing place

Where you dance in my breast;

And we’ll have no more of the silly world

Where our lips must lie apart.

We’ll let death pour our souls

Into one cup,

And mount like joyous birds to God

With hearts on fire,

And God will mingle us into one shape

In an eternal garden of gold stars.

- Love Ballad of the Caucasus.

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