The bitter fate of the poets of all tribes;
The hardest fate for all is Russia;
For glory and Ryleyev was born;
But the young man was in love with freedom ...
The loop was pulled by an impudent howl.
He is not alone; others follow him
Beautiful seduced by a dream
Replied a fatal year ...
God gave fire to their heart, light to the mind,
Yes! feelings in them are enthusiastic and ardent, -
Well? they are thrown into a black prison
Frozen hopeless links ...
Or the disease brings night and darkness
Into the eyes of visionary visionaries;
Or the hand of lovers of despicable
Sends a bullet to their holy brow;
Or a revolt will raise the black deaf,
And the mob will tear to pieces
Whose sparkling feathers fly
With a radiance, he would drench his native country.