Over earth awakes a whirring,
And a rustling, and a stirring,
Trumpet-voices fill the skies:
"Lo, they call us. Brothers, rise!"
"No. The darkness holds unshaken.
I will sleep, and not awaken.
Do not rouse me. Do not call.
Do not strike the coffin-wall."
"Now you dare not sleep. Resounding
Sternly, the last trump is sounding.
They are rising from the tomb.
As from the maternal womb
Of the opened earth forth-flinging,
From their graves the dead are springing."
"No, I cannot. All unuttered
My words died. My eyes are shuttered.
I shall not believe their lies.
I shall not, I cannot rise!
Brother,—I am ashamed and shrinking,—
Dust, corruption,—rotting, stinking!"
"Brother, God has seen our prison.
All shall wake, and all be risen.
All shall yet be judged by Him.
Cherubim and seraphim
High the holy Throne are bearing!
Here our heavenly King is faring.
Brother, he must live who dies.
Glad or grieving, thou shalt rise."
Под землею слышен ропот,
Тихий шелест, шорох, шепот.
Слышен в небе трубный глас:
— Брат, вставай же, будят нас.
— Нет, темно еще повсюду,
Спать хочу и спать я буду,
Не мешай же мне, молчи,
В стену гроба не стучи.
— Не заснешь теперь, уж поздно.
Зов раздался слишком грозно,
И встают вблизи, вдали,
Из разверзшейся земли,
Как из матерней утробы,
Мертвецы, покинув гробы.
— Не могу и не хочу,
Я закрыл глаза, молчу,
Не поверю я обману,
Я не встану, я не встану.
Брат, мне стыдно — весь я пыль,
Пыль и тлен, и смрад, и гниль.
— Брат, мы Бога не обманем,
Все проснемся, все мы встанем,
Все пойдем на Страшный суд.
Вот престол уже несут.
Херувимы, серафимы.
Вот наш царь дориносимый.
О, вставай же — рад не рад,
Всё равно ты встанешь, брат.
«I know the truth! All other truths - out of my sight! / There is no cause for us to hold these fights and battles! / Just take a look: there’s evening, look: there’s night. / Why do we fight — o poets, lovers, and commanders? The grass is dewy and the wind has settled down, / And soon...»
«Two suns are cooling down, — God, I protest! — / One — in the sky, the other — in my chest. How these two suns — could my conscience forget? — / How these two suns were driving me mad! Both cooling now, — their rays won’t hurt your eyes! / The one that burned the hottest »
«The gypsy passion of parting! / Just met — and rushing to part! / I dropped my head in my hands and started / To think, staring into the dark: From our letters, no one could gather / Any insight to understand more / How disloyal we were, or rather, — / How true to ourselves we were.»
«No one was left at a loss!1 / I’m happy we’ve come to part. / I’m kissing you now — across / The gap of a thousand yards. We’re not equal — I understand. / I’m calm — for the first time. / A young Derzhavin,2 you can’t / Accept my undisciplined rhyme. I christen you...»