I'm looking forwards into years far,
Through a beam of hopes, all of them
Are hard to be determined; and they are
Still promising the years, days,
Which are so similar to past,
Without tortures, joys, at last
The end - the waited end:
Your future, the creator, in that way!

I'm the son of anguish. And my father
Was out of quietness to end.
My mother faded away in tears;
I only was left, and needless,
In that resplendent people's feast,
The young branch on the dry stump, least; -
Though green, it doesn't have a sap in it-
The death daughter - death's destined!

1831

Lyudmila Purgina

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/m-lermontov-stances-2-translation-rus/