Mikhail Lermontov

Enough of sparing shameful sin!
Are, truly, blackguards' shields -- the crowns?
Let fools adore them herein,
Let t'other lyre pour them sounds.
But, you, Bard, stop singing forthwith,
A golden wreath is not your wreath.

While living from your land apart
Be proud as with life in freedom;
Your noble thoughts and burning heart
Are given by the nature's kingdom;
You've seen the evil, before that
You always had unbowed head.

You sang for freedom on your way
When tyrants and the axe were reigning:
Afraid of only Judgment Day
And free from any earthly dreading,
You sang, and there is, in this land,
The one, who could you understand.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, May, 1998
Edited by Dmitry Karshtedt, May, 2001