So, comrade inspired,
And you! - and I am holy
No tears shed:
With a habit of grief and suffering
All dried up in the patient’s chest.
But your image to my dreams
In the sleepless nights to be
But I'm fed up with grief
But gloomy, near my wife, dear to me,
And forgot to think about love ...
/ There / thoughts, over your grave!
Silent rustle of harmonious wings
Your magical chants
Your genius flew into heaven;
And the squeals of yellow slander
Fools who have done so,
How were you alive, your traits
And now, in the hour of holy sorrow,
Soulless, do not shut up!
Be proud! By God, shame and shame
Their vile love! - Let them sting!
He is empty and rotten, whom everyone praises;
For envy, I will give dearly.
Be proud! No one is equal to you
None of their peers:
You will not grow dark in the darkness of centuries -
For centuries Derzhavin has been slandering you.
Wilhelm Küchelbecker - Shadows of Pushkin