(Mikhailovskoe, 1824)
Since ancient times, the sweet union
Poetov a bond between:
They are the priests of common musical,
A single flame of their care;
Strangers to each other by fate,
They are relatives of inspiration.
By Ovid shadow:
languages, I'll close.
It has long been used in the way of Dorpat
I went out the morning times
And gracious threshold
Suffered heavy stick my,
And he returned b lively
Picture of carefree days,
Talk freely-inspired
And sounding lyre your.
But me viciously played happiness:
It has long been homeless, I noshus,
Where blows autocracy:
Usnuv, I do not know, where will I wake up. —
always persecuted, Now in exile
Vlachu zakovannыe days.
hear, poet, my calling,
My hopes not deceive.
In the village, where Peter pet,
kings, Queens favorite slave
And they forgot odnodomets,
I am hiding my great-grandfather Arap,
Where, forgetting Elizabeth
And the courtyard and lush vows,
Under the shade of the linden alleys
He thought in cooling Years
On its far Africa,
I'm waiting for you. You with me
Embrace in rural shack
My brother by blood, like,
Saluna, seen thee;
And sublime musical prophet,
Our Delvig leave everything to us.
I celebrate our troica
The expulsion of a dark corner.
Supervision deceive the guard,
Praise Liberty gifts
And our youth riotous
Awake noisy feasts,
Attention should bow chorus
By ringing of glasses and poems,
And boring winter evenings
Wine and song progonim.
