The thunder roars while sky is dark, Above the endless foaming sea. The fight of waves, the play of spark, Cold water washes mountain scree. A lightning lit the pick of rock, Denuding gloomy shape of it, And I can hear the gale’s talk, While standing still on windy steep. I stand – assume the awful truth, Pursuits of all the forces live, Who punished was for useless sooth, Or could not real feel achieve. Around whom this poison’s spilled From slander cup to disapprove. Around the rock, so sly and thrilled, You dance in flame of deadly move? Oh no! – Keep flying, restless flame! Keep wistling, bluffing with your wind. I’m hear, staying calm for blame. And trembling’s unfamiliar with me. P. S. Перевод стихотворения Лермонтова "Гроза"