Aleksandr Pushkin

Who’d fully stopped you, billows, proud?
Who’d dressed with chains your movement, mightiest?
Into a pool, so mute and lightless,
Who’d changed such a rebellious flood?
Whose magic wand had thrown aside
My hope, sorrow and gladness
And, with a doziness of laziness,
My ever-boiling soul had lulled?
So, blow, winds, rise, waters-dreamers,
Distract the pestilent stronghold!
Where are you, thunderstorm of freedom?
Wing the slaved waters’ manifold!


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, March 14, 2005