With head inclined, I stand before
The tomb of sainted one of yore…
And all’s asleep; but here some torches
Now gild in church’s nighted gloom
The granite hulk of pillars’ porches,
Where overhead the banners loom.
Beneath them all here slumbers lord,
By all the northern ranks adored,
Respected guard of mighty nation,
The one who humbled every foe,
The last who claimed the acclamation
Of Catherine’s eagles, long ago.
And in your coffin rapture wells!
To us in Russian accents tells;
To us of noble age narrating,
When faithful people’s crying gave
That saintly silver head berating:
“Save us!” – And you got up to save…
Now hear our faithful voice and thus
Arise to save both Tsar and us.
Oh, fearsome senex! For a moment
Release yourself from coffin’s bind
And add new rapture to the ferment
Of the brigades you’ve left behind!
Be manifest, extend your hand
To show from ’midst this motley band
Your heir, the one whom you have chosen!
But silence fills this sacred room,
You rest for ever, still and frozen,
In splendour of your hero’s tomb…
Перед гробницею святой
Стою с поникшею главой…
Всё спит кругом; одни лампады
Во мраке храма золотят
Столбов гранитные громады
И их знамен нависший ряд.
Под ними спит сей властелин,
Сей идол северных дружин,
Маститый страж страны державной,
Смиритель всех ее врагов,
Сей остальной из стаи славной
Екатерининских орлов.
В твоем гробу восторг живет!
Он русскйй глас нам издает;
Он нам твердит о той године,
Когда народной веры глас
Воззвал к святой твоей седине:
“Иди, спасай!” Ты встал — и спас…
Внемли ж и днесь наш верный глас,
Встань и спасай царя и нас,
О, старец грозный! На мгновенье
Явись у двери гробовой,
Явись, вдохни восторг и рвенье
Полкам, оставленным тобой!
Явись и дланию своей
Нам укажи в толпе вождей,
Кто твой наследник, твой избранный!
Но храм — в молчанье погружен,
И тих твоей могилы бранной
Невозмутимый, вечный сон…
«Why did you pollute the water, / with vileness adulterate my bread? / Why did you make the final freedom / into a den of thieves instead? / Was it because I did not mock / the bitter fate of friends? / Was it because I’d not betrayed / my piteous native land? / So be it. There can ...»
«Wide and yellow the evening light. / I feel a gentle April chill. / Your coming's late by many a year / but to me you're welcome still. Look at me with those merry eyes; / sit down next to me this minute: / here's that blue-bound notebook / with my girlish verses in it. Forgive me for ...»
«Bitter woman, / you speak of things to come; / your arms hang limp, / a lock of hair sticks to your bloodless brow. / You smile, and — o, those rosy lips / enticed many a bee for honeyed sips / and dazzled many a butterfly! Your moon-eyes shine, / your gaze is bent on things afar. /...»
«I drink to the ruined house, / To the evil of my life, / To our shared loneliness / And I drink to you — / To the lie of lips that betrayed me, / To the deadly coldness of the eyes, / To the fact that the world is cruel and depraved, / To the fact that God did not save.»