Текст песни А.С. Пушкин - В часы забав иль праздной скуки..

In hours of fun il idle boredom ,
Sometimes I have my lyre
I entrust effeminate sounds
Madness , indolence , and passion .

But even then the string sly
Involuntarily I interrupted ringing ,
When your voice is majestic
I was suddenly hit .

I poured a flood of tears unexpected ,
And the wounds of my conscience
Your speeches fragrant
Gratifying net was firs.

And now, with the height of spiritual
I hand you stretching ,
And the power of gentle and loving
Humbles violent dreams.

Your soul is the burning fire
Rejected the darkness of earthly vanities,
And heed harp Filaret
In sacred horror poet .