Exegi Monumentum by A. Pushkin Памятник Пушкина
Myself a monument I built – in verses chiseled,
My people’s love will keep it free of moss and mold,
It stands defiantly; its proud head has risen
Above the Alexander’s Column* tall.
A part of me, escaping death, shall last for ages:
Survive my ashes - with the sacred lyre entwined;
My glory lives, beneath the moon, on earthly pages
While but one poet stays alive.
My name shall span our land, our Russia – great and boundless,
And each will speak it in a tongue he understands:
The Finn, the Tungus* wild, the Slav who passes proudly,
The Kalmyk, friend of nomad lands.
The years shall pass, but people’s hearts – forever grateful
For all the noble tones awakened by my lyre;
For praising freedom: in our cruel age – so hateful;
Evoking mercy, loud and clear.
Behold, my Muse, the words divine, our God’s true wishes:
Demand no laurels, fear not derisions cruel,
Be unimpressed by spiteful slander, praise delicious
And never argue with a fool.