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.