FOOTNOTES:

[1] This poem partakes of a prophecy. Lermontof was himself killed in a duel on the slopes of the Caucasus.

Cloudlets ethereal wandering ceaselessly,

Floating in pearly chains over the azure deep;

Maybe, as even I, suffering banishment,[2]

Leaving your own dear North, southward perforce you sweep.

What is compelling you? Destiny’s ordinance?

Envy invisible? Open iniquity?

Maybe deeds criminal heavily press on you;

Maybe the slander of friendship’s obliquity.

No! you are simply aweary of fruitless fields;

Strangers to passions and strangers to punishment.

Frigid eternally, free everlastingly,

You have no country, and cannot know banishment!