Alexander Pushkin — The Talisman

Where fierce the surge with awful bellow

Doth ever lash the rocky wall;

And where the moon most brightly mellow

Dost beam when mists of evening fall;

Where midst his harem’s countless blisses

The Moslem spends his vital span,

A Sorceress there with gentle kisses

Presented me a Talisman.

And said: until thy latest minute

Preserve, preserve my Talisman;

A secret power it holds within it—

’Twas love, true love the gift did plan.

From pest on land, or death on ocean,

When hurricanes its surface fan,

O object of my fond devotion!

Thou scap’st not by my Talisman.

The gem in Eastern mine which slumbers,

Or ruddy gold ’twill not bestow;

’Twill not subdue the turban’d numbers,

Before the Prophet’s shrine which bow;

Nor high through air on friendly pinions

Can bear thee swift to home and clan,

From mournful climes and strange dominions—

From South to North—my Talisman.

But oh! when crafty eyes thy reason

With sorceries sudden seek to move,

And when in Night’s mysterious season

Lips cling to thine, but not in love—

From proving then, dear youth, a booty

To those who falsely would trepan

From new heart wounds, and lapse from duty,

Protect thee shall my Talisman.