Obed, I live near the quiet shores,
Who drove the gods of our fathers
You once brought his ashes and left.
Your dreary cries these places glorified;
And the gentle voice of the lyre has not speechless;
Another thy rumor filled this limit.
You vpechatlel alive in my imagination
bleak desert, poet imprisonment,
Misty vault of heaven, ordinary snow
And warmed by the heat of the short grasslands.
How often, fascinated by the play of sad strings,
I heart followed, Obed, for you!
I saw your ship plaything shafts
And anchor, Vergennes near the wild shores,
Where he is waiting for the singer's love cruel reward.
There are fields without shadows, hills without grapes:
Born in the snow for the horrors of war,
There hladnoy Scythia ferocious sons,
For Istres utayas, production expected
And every moment raid villages threatened.
No obstacles for them: they float in the waves
And after ice zvučnomu bestrepetno idut.
you yourself (Look, Nazon, be surprised fate perverse!),
You, from a young age defying excitement inverse life,
Accustomed roses marry his his hair
And Bliss Having your carefree hours,
You will be forced to vzlozhit and hard hat,
And the sword store near Lira dismayed.
nor daughter, nor woman, nor the faithful congregation of friends,
neither Muse, Lightweight friend of former days,
Exiled singer will delight not sorrow.
Grace your vain verses crowned,
In vain did the young men memorize:
our glory, no flight, no complaints, nor sadness,
Neither timid lyrics Octavia will not touch;
Days of old age in your oblivion drowned.
Italy luxurious golden citizen.
In the homeland of the barbarians and one bezvesten,
You homeland sounds around you do not hear;
You're in great sorrows of a distant friendship write:
“On my return the sacred city of the fathers
And the shadow of the peaceful gardens of hereditary!
About other, Augustus carry my prayer,
The Hand of Vengeance tears reject,
But if the angry god hitherto implacable,
And age I can not see you, great Rome. —
Last pleading mitigating the terrible rock,
Priblizhte though my coffin to the beautiful Italy!
Whose heart Chladni, defiant Harith,
Your depression and tears reproach?
Who in the rough pride read without Affection
these are the elegy, latest creations,
Where are you my vain moan passed to offspring?
harsh Slav, I shed no tears,
But I understand them; willful exile,
And light, and a, and dissatisfied with life,
With thoughtful soul I now visited
country, where thou art sad eyelids dragged.
Here, reviving you dream of imagination,
I repeated your, Obed, chant
And their sad picture confided;
But eyes betrayed dreams changed.
Exile your eyes captivated by the mystery,
Accustomed to snow sullen midnight.
Here, long heavenly light blue;
Here is a brief reigns cruelty of winter storms.
On the shores of the Scythian new immigrant,
son of the south, shines purple grapes.
Too cloudy December by Russian grasslands
Spread out layers of fluffy snow;
Winter breathed out there - and a vernal warmth
Here the bright sun rolled over me;
Mladen was gay greens wilted meadow;
Free Fields blew too early plow:
A little breeze blew, turning cold in the evening;
Nearly transparent ice over the lake dimming,
Crystal covered motionless jet.
I remembered your experiences timid.
this day, notices winged inspiration.
When the first time you entrust with perplexity
Steps your waves, Bound winter ...
And on the new ice, it seemed, before me
Sliding your shadow, and plaintive sounds
carried a distance, as a languid parting groan.
Console yourself; not uvyal Ovid crown!
Alas, among the crowd lost a singer,
Bezvesten I will for the new generations,
AND, dark victim, die my feeble genius
With the sad life, minute with a rumor ...
But if me a descendant of my late
Learning, will seek in this distant country
Near the ashes of my glorious secluded trail -
Brega oblivion Leaving the cool canopy,
To him fly off my grateful shadow,
And it will be nice to me his memories.
Be preserved as cherished devotion:
How do you, warring pokorstvuya fate,
Not glory - is the fate I was you.
Here, lyre of northern desert disclosing,
I wandered in those days, both shores of the Danube
Generous Greek freedom caused,
And not a single one I have not listened to in the world;
But foreign to the hills, field and groves sleepy,
And I muse peace were supportive.
