A poem by Alexander Pushkin – Pouchkine, Pooshkin (1799-1837), in English translation


The lies of fame and love’s resolve

Have vanished now without a trace,

Our youthful passions have dissolved

As though a dream or morning haze.

Yet, still, we’re burning with desire,

And with impatience in our souls,

Beneath the yoke of strength and fire,

We hark our country’s pleading calls.

In expectation, full of ardor,

The day of freedom we await, —

Thus waits a youthful, eager lover

The moment of the promised date.

And whilst with liberty we burn,

And whilst our hearts adore ovation,

Our country needs us, – let us turn

And dedicate our soul’s elation.

My friend, believe me that with thunder,

The star of joy will rise again!

And Russia will arise from slumber,

Our names will be incised with wonder

On remnants of oppressive reign!

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