Текст песни Мария Максакова - Ах, прошли, прошли

muses. A.E. Varlamov, sl. N.G.Tyganova

"Do not sit, my friend, late at night,
Do not burn the candle to the wax of the hard,
Do not wait for me until midnight!
       Oh! passed, passed
       Our red days ...
       Our joys
       Like a whirlwind vomited
       And like dust, like dust
       It's blowing in the field! ..
       Announced yesterday
       Monsieur sir,
       Agreed
       On that mother,
       What is not equal to me,
       Do not be fiance to you,
       That I marry
       On another wife! ..
       One sunshine
       Heaven is burning ...
       And me, well done,
       Only once to love! -
       I'm parents
       I will conquer:
       On their taper,
       At their mummers
       (With early death)
       I will marry!
       And with you forever
       I'm saying goodbye! "

Not a stream murmurs, no river rustles -
The girl is crying ... the red one yells:
       "Oh, you, my dear,
       My sweetheart! ..
       I'm not a dweller
       In the white light
       Without you, soul,
       Heart, my life! ..
       No at the Gorlinki
       Two doves,
       At the windmill
       Two swans ...
       Do not even know me
       Two cute buddies! "

She does not sit up late at night,
And the candle burns like an old wax! ..
In front is a new box coffin:
The girl lies red in the coffin.

& lt; 1828 & gt;

The prototype of the song "Do not sit, my friend, late at night" was a folk song from Chulkov's collection "My dear, good":

My dear, good,
You are my soul, the girl is red,
My former sweetheart,
Do not sit, my light, long evening
And do not burn the candle wax yarova,
Do not wait for me until white;
I conceived, my light, to marry,
I came to say good-bye to you;
For your love to bow ...
The girl burst into flames;
In tears, the very word said:
- We will exchange our gifts:
You give, give my gold ring,
Take it, take your damask knife,
With whom you went to see me,
You pierce, pierce my white breasts,
Reach my heart with a fervor ...
"Do not cry, do not cry, the girl's paint,
Do not grieve, my soul.
I will walk more often than before,
I will be a dear old man ...
The teardrop was a red girl,
In sorrow she said:
- How not to heat the sun hotter than summer,
Do not love my friend before.
You marry, marry, my soul,
I beg you, poor one,
Do not put yourself in praise,
And my honor for damage,
For me, that you have been a long time bachelor.