I have erected a monument without hands,
To him not zarostet popular trail,
Above Voznessya head on nepokornoy
No, all I will not die - the soul in the sacred lyre
My ashes survive and decay run away -
And the glory will I, until in the sublunary world
Will live at least one poet.
The rumor about me will take place all over Russia great,
And call me every one who is in her language,
And the proud grandson of the Slavs, and finn, and now the wild
TUNGUCH, and Steppes each Kalmyk.
How long will the kind people I,
What I'm feeling good lyre awakening,
What in my cruel age I praised Freedom
And mercy for the fallen.
command of God, the muse, all obedient,
Grievances without fear, without requiring crown,
Praise and slander acceptable indifferent,
And not to dispute the fool.