Пушкин, Памятник

Exegi monumentum

Not made by human hand my pillar-like creation,
The people’s path thereto will never disappear,
Like Alexander’s shaft that rises over nation
My Monument is one unruly seer.

I will not wholly die — the soul in sacred lyre
Will outlive my dust and will escape decay —
And on the moonlit sphere my glory will not tire,
As long as poets still remain.

The rumor of my fame will march through vastly Russia,
In every tongue my name will be repeated soon
Alike by haughty Slav, by Finn and by compassioned
Tungus and Kalmuck — polder’s loon.

In coming aftertime the people still will read\’em,
All sympathetic lines my poetry evolved,
Remembering the age I glorified the freedom,
For mercy to the fallen called.

Oh, Muse, poetic Muse, adhere to God’s commandments,
Of insult unafraid, not asking for the crown,
Indifferently take the praise and lie attendance,
Don’t contradict a clown.