17
Thus, O the Lord! And this my prayer
Accept for temple's confirmation.
I sing not pleasures of my love —
I sing the wound of my nation.
Not nasty person's rusty trunk —
Granite, with people's knees rubbed coarse.
Hero and tsar given to all,
To all — a singer — righteous — corpse.
Not bashful at the coffin boards,
Breaking upon Dnieper the ices,
Russia — on Easter it does swim
In pouring streams of thousand-voices.
Thus, heart, there will be cry and praise!
Let your cry — which thousand?
The mortal love is jealous so.
The other's at the chorus glad.
17
Так, Господи! И мой обол
Прими на утвержденье храма.
Не свой любовный произвол
Пою — своей отчизны рану.
Не скаредника ржавый ларь —
Гранит, коленами протёртый.
Всем отданы герой и царь,
Всем — праведник — певец — и мёртвый.
Днепром разламывая лёд,
Гробо́вым не смущаясь тёсом,
Русь — Пасхою к тебе плывёт,
Разливом тысячеголосым.
Так, сердце, плачь и славословь!
Пусть вопль твой — тысяча который? —
Ревнует смертная любовь.
Другая — радуется хору.
«I don’t cry, nor long for, nor regretting – / Life is short like smoke of blooming trees. / In my fading chiton with ‘golden setting / I will be no longer young like this. You, my heart, will not go on as ever, / For the cold has touched your very core. / And the land of chintz and ...»
«Tell, uncle, it was not a boon / By fire Moscow burnt so soon / Enjoyed by Frenchmen tall? / Fierce fights... or wasn't there any? / There were, great battles, there were many, / For reason Russians, kids and granny, / This glorious day recall! Once was a folk that you...»
«– Hey tell, old man, had we a cause / When Moscow, razed by fire, once was / Given up to Frenchman's blow? / Old-timers talk about some frays, / And they remember well those days! / With cause all Russia fashions lays / About Borodino! / / – Yea, ...»
«I like you well, O trusty dagger mine, / My comrade wrought of cool Damascus steel! / Forged were you by the Georgian with revenge in the mind, / By the Circassian free — for war were you made keen. A lily-white hand it was gave you to me — / You were affection's keepsake, its last gift...»