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C.D. Warner, et al., comp.  The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes.  1917.
 
A Monument
By Alexander Pushkin (1799–1837)
 
Translation of John Pollen

I’VE raised myself no statue made with hands,—
  The people’s path to it no weeds will hide.
Rising with no submissive head, it stands
  Above the pillar of Napoleon’s pride.
No! I shall never die: in sacred strains        5
  My soul survives my dust and flees decay;
And famous shall I be, while there remains
  A single poet ’neath the light of day.
Through all great Russia will go forth my fame,
And every tongue in it will name my name;        10
And by the nation long shall I be loved,
Because my lyre their nobler feelings moved:
Because I strove to serve them with my song,
And called forth mercy for the fallen throng.
Hear God’s command, O Muse, obediently,        15
  Nor dread reproach, nor claim the poet’s bay;
To praise and blame alike indifferent be,
      And let fools say their say!
 
 
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