«A sweet-voiced bird's been caught. / They squeeze it in a vice-like grip. / The poor thing squeaks and warbles not / But they insist: "O, birdie, sing!"»
«The current of time's river / Will carry off all human deeds / And sink into oblivion / All peoples, kingdoms and their kings. And if there's something that remains / Through sounds of horn and lyre, / It too will disappear into the maw of time / And not avoid the common fate.»
«Why do you strike up songs military / Fife-like, o, bullfinch, my friend? / Who'll take the lead in our fight with Hell's forces? / Who will command us? What Hercules? / Where is Suvorov, strong, swift and fearless? / Now Northern thunder lies dead in the grave. Who will ride fiery, ahea...»
«I'll leave the mortal world behind, / Take wing in an flight fantastical, / With singing, my eternal soul / Will rise up swan-like in the air. Possessing two immortal traits, / In Purgatory I won't not linger, / But rising over jealousy / I'll leave behind me kingdoms' shine. 'Tis so! ...»