I built myself a monument, eternal and miraculous,
It's higher than the Pyramids, than metal it is harder;
Swift winds and thunder cannot knock it down
The flight of time cannot demolish it.
Thus I won't really die! The part of me that's largest
Will baffle death, and will escape decay,
My fame will grow, and never wither,
As long as Slavs are honored in this world.
And word of me shall spread from the White Sea to the Black,
Where Volga, Don, Neva and Ural rivers flow,
Each member of the countless tribes will know
How from obscurity I found my way to fame,
By daring first in lively Russian speech
To celebrate the virtues of Felitsa,
To talk of God with intimate simplicity,
And with a smile announce the truth to kings.
O Muse! take pride in your well-earned rewards,
Disdain all those who show disdain for you,
And with an easy and unhurried hand,
With dawn eternal crown your brow.
Я памятник себе воздвиг чудесный, вечный,
Металлов тверже он и выше пирамид;
Ни вихрь его, ни гром не сломит быстротечный,
И времени полет его не сокрушит.
Так! — весь я не умру, но часть меня большая,
От тлена убежав, по смерти станет жить,
И слава возрастёт моя, не увядая,
Доколь славянов род вселенна будет чтить.
Слух пройдет обо мне от Белых вод до Чёрных,
Где Волга, Дон, Нева, с Рифея льет Урал;
Всяк будет помнить то в народах неисчётных,
Как из безвестности я тем известен стал,
Что первый я дерзнул в забавном русском слоге
О добродетелях Фелицы возгласить,
В сердечной простоте беседовать о Боге
И истину царям с улыбкой говорить.
О Муза! возгордись заслугой справедливой,
И презрит кто тебя, сама тех презирай;
Непринуждённою рукой неторопливой
Чело твоё зарёй бессмертия венчай.
«In the night a golden cloudlet straying / Slumbered on a crag’s breast, huge and burly; / Rose the damsel in the morning early, / Gaily fled through heaven’s azure, playing. But upon the wrinkled rock remaining / Faintly still a trace of brightness wandered: / Lone the giant stood, an...»
«When life’s oppressive hour is mine / And in my heart griefs crowd, / A prayer of wondrous power is mine / That I repeat aloud. Blest is the strength that flows to me / In concords of sweet sound; / Past reckoning it blows to me / Divine enchantment round. Doubt, like a burden, leapi...»
«We drink the cup of life while yet / A veil our eyes is keeping; / And the cup’s golden brim is wet / With tears of our own weeping. But when the veil falls from our eyes. / As Death appears before us. / Then with the veil the mystery flies / That held enchantment o’er us. Oh then ...»
«No, not for you, for you, does my love flame; / ’Tis not for me, your beauty brightly shining. / In you my love is for old anguish pining. / For youth once mine before disaster came. And when at times I look into your eyes / And dwell on them with long and lingering glances, / I convers...»