Gavrila Derzhavin
To lordsand judges

The Lord of Heaven rose in judgement
Of lords who earthly power bear:
“How long,” quoth he, “shall you unjustly
The wicked and unrighteous spare?
Alas! Is it beyond our powers
To deck ourselves once more with flowers
And banish woeful sighs and tears?

Indeed, indeed I’ve heard the rumour:
A monarch too may grieve, they say,
Be ill at ease and out of humour
Though everybody him obey
And glory crown his royal presence.
Alas! Is power always pleasant
To those who pass their lives in care?
Here swift decline, there lies in plenty
He sees, poor fellow, like a sentry
Forever asking: “Who goes there?”

Therefore, before inclement weather
Begins to cloud these splendid days
And Fortune quits us altogether,
While she still smiles with kindly gaze,
Before sharp frosts the furrows harden,
While roses still perfume our garden
Let’s hurry to enjoy their scent.
So let us now, as best we’re able,
Enjoy life’s pleasures and at table
Have our due share of revelment.

Should you, however, or some others
Among the guests I call to dine,
Prefer gold palaces which offer
Rich sweetmeats of the royal kind,
And spurn my company at supper,
I beg you heed the truth I utter:
Not in reflected glory lies
Felicity, nor in rich flavours;
Sound health and peace of mind she favours,
The golden mean most satisfies.

Translated by Peter Tempest