Mikhail Lermontov
A Prophecy

A year will come — for Russia a black year —
When the crown so many tsars have worn, will fall;
The mob will lose the love it had for them,
And multitudes will feed on blood and death.
The law, thrown over, will no longer shield
The little children and the chaste young wives;
And Plague from stinking bodies of the dead
Will roam the streets of mourning villages,
And silently call victims from their homes;
And Hunger’s teeth will tear at this poor land;
And reddening skies will make the rivers red.

On that day will appear a powerful man.
And you will know him, and will understand
Why in his grasp he holds a shining knife.
And woe to you! Your weeping and your groans
Will only make him laugh. And everything
About him will be frightening and dark,
Like his black cloak, beneath his towering brow.

Translated by Guy Daniels