confused memories,
Full of sweet sorrow,
beautiful gardens, under the darkness of your sacred
I went with bowed head.
So the young man the Bible, mad waster,
To the last drop of remorse exhausted Vial,
Seeing finally darling abode,
The head slumped and wept.
In the heat of enthusiasm transient,
The sterile whirl bustle,
ABOUT, I wasted a lot of treasure heart
For inaccessible dream,
For a long time I wandered, and often, tired,
Repentance grief, foreseeing troubles,
I thought about you, limit blessed,
Imagining these gardens.
I imagine a happy day,
When you have a broad Lyceum,
And I hear the noise of our games again playful
And I see the family again friends.
Again gentle lad, the fiery, the lazy,
Vague dreams in my breast melting,
While wandering through the meadows, the groves silent,
I forget the poet.
And vyave I see before me
Days last traces of the proud.
Still filled with great wife,
Her favorite gardens
They are populated Halls, doors,
pillars, towers, idols of the gods
And the glory of the marble, and copper praises
Catherine eagles.
Sit ghosts of heroes
In dealing with them pillars,
Look: here the hero, stesnitely ratnыh drill,
Perun shores Cahul.
here, Here the mighty leader of the midnight flag,
Before whom the seas fire and swim and fly.
Here are his faithful brother, Archipelago hero,
Here Navarino Hannibal.
Among the saints of memories
I am here since childhood grew,
A hollow flow between the popular battle
Oh I raged and murmured.
Fatherland embraced bloody care,
Russia moved, and flying past us
And the clouds horse, bradataya Corps,
And a number of light guns.
At the young warriors looked enviously,
We fished avidly we battle sounds clearly far away,
AND, nehoduya, we cursed childhood,
And the bonds of strict Sciences.
And many do not come. At the sound of the new songs
It sat nicely in the fields of Borodino,
At altitudes Kulmskih, Lithuanian harsh forests,
Vblizi Montmartre
