Gavrila Derzhavin
On the death of prince Meshchersky

O singing brass that rings our knell!
Your terrifying tones appall me;
You call me, call me with your bell
And closer to the tomb you draw me.
Though I was born not long ago
Already Death his teeth is gnashing
And with his scythe like lightning flashing
My lush green days he starts to mow.

From Fortune’s grip there’s no escape
For any thing or living creature;
Worms eat both slave and potentate,
By wind and weather tombs are eaten;
Fame passes with the passing hours:
To timelessness our years are speeding
Like rivers to the sea proceeding;
Whole kingdoms greedy Death devours.

We’re slithering to the abyss
And headlong into it go flying;
In greeting life it’s Death we kiss,
What were we bom for if not dying?
At everything we see Death strike —
He can destroy stars in their courses,
Great suns to dim their light he forces,
He menaces all worlds alike.

Alone man thinks he’ll never die
And dreams a Hfe of endless raptures;
But, like a robber, Death creeps by
And suddenly our life he snatches.
Alas! when we are least afraid
He comes to carry us off swiftly;
Not even lightning can so quickly
Strike summits in a sudden raid.

Son of luxurious delight,
Meshchersky, whither have you vanished?
You’ve crossed the boundary of life
And to Death’s country you are banished;
Your dust is here, your spirit gone!
Where? There! Where’s that? We have no notion.
We just lament with deep emotion:
“O woe that ever we were born!”

Those in whom pleasure, joy and love
And robust health have long been glowing
Now feel a cooling of the blood
And in their hearts confusion growing.
The sideboard now a coffin bears;
Where guests were recently regaling
I hear funereal sad wailing
And pale Death at all present stares.

His eye is on them all — on kings
Whose thirst for conquest is unbridled,
On men in riches wallowing,
Who pose as gold and silver idols;
Death looks on beauty young and lithe,
He looks on wisdom truths declaring,
He looks on strength forever daring
And with a stone he whets his scythe.

Death, ever terrible for us!
How proud we are-and no less wretched;
Today a god, tomorrow dust;
Today we dream of future pleasure,
Tomorrow — what is left you, Man?
Your life is only just beginning
When into chaos you go spinning
And over is your earthly span.

Like a sweet vision seen in dreams
Has my youth too already vanished;
Less fascinating Beauty seems,
With joy less keenly am I ravished,
Less lightly can I praise or blame,
I'm less content with my condition;
I still despite full recognition
Can hear the strident call of fame.

But manhood too shall pass away
And lust for glory in like fashion,
No more shall greed for wealth hold sway
And in the heart those bursts of passion
Shall lose the vigour of their prime.
Be off, you joys and blessings, leave us!
You are shortlived and you deceive us!
I stand before the door of Time.

Of course, Perfilyev, we shall die
If not today, why then, tomorrow.
That now in earth your friend should lie
Should not occasion pain or sorrow.
Life is a fleeting gift divine:
In its injunctions acquiescing
And in their hearts confusion growing.
The sideboard now a coffin bears;
Where guests were recently regaling
I hear funereal sad wailing
And pale Death at all present stares.

His eye is on them all-on kings
Whose thirst for conquest is unbridled,
On men in riches wallowing,
Who pose as gold and silver idols;
Death looks on beauty young and lithe,
He looks on wisdom truths declaring,
He looks on strength forever daring
And with a stone he whets his scythe.

Death, ever terrible for us!
How proud we are-and no less wretched;
Today a god, tomorrow dust;
Today we dream of future pleasure,
Tomorrow — what is left you, Man?
Your life is only just beginning
When into chaos you go spinning
And over is your earthly span.

Like a sweet vision seen in dreams
Has my youth too already vanished;
Less fascinating Beauty seems,
With joy less keenly am I ravished,
Less lightly can I praise or blame,
I’m less content with my condition;
I still despite full recognition
Can hear the strident call of fame.

But manhood too shall pass away
And lust for glory in like fashion,
No more shall greed for wealth hold sway
And in the heart those bursts of passion
Shall lose the vigour of their prime.
Be off, you joys and blessings, leave us!
You are shortlived and you deceive us!
I stand before the door of Time.

Of course, Perfllyev, we shall die
If not today, why then, tomorrow.
That now in earth your friend should lie
Should not occasion pain or sorrow.
life is a fleeting gift divine:
In its injunctions acquiescing
Fate’s hard blow with a pure heart blessing,
To Destiny yourself resign!

Translated by Peter Tempest