Who is this wondrous giant,
Dressed in shining armor,
Calm brow, stately figure,
And gleaming with beauty?
Who is this, decked in a wreath,
With sword, scales, and shield,
Scorning enemies, haughtiness,
Standing as a granite rock
And crushing with his strong finger
Insidious injustice?
Is it not you, oh, courage of citizens,
Steadfast, noble,
Is it not you, genius of ancient lands,
Is it not you, power of free spirits,
Oh, valour, gift of gracious heavens,
Mother of heroes, cause of miracles,
Is it not you who glorified the Catos,
Saved Rome from Catilina
And in our days always was
The firm basis of laws.
Inspired by you,
Scorning enemies, scorning hurt,
They saved the native land from misfortune,
Glowing with glory, the Aristides;
In exile, in alien lands
In their hearts did not die
The love for social good,
The love for their fellow citizens:
They were good to them
Even there, to the shame of the areopag.
You, you, who everywhere
Were the guarantee of native bliss;
In whom both Panin and Dolgorukii
Glory as judges:
One who as a firm defender of good
Dared argue with Peter;
The other, scorning Fate's anger
And the cries and slander of enemies
Rejected the advise of flatterers
And was a pillar of strength for Catherine.
Great is he who sought honor in battle
And struck fear in alien soldiers
Bringing to his banners
Victory, the companion of heroes!
Shield of the fatherland, threat to enemies,
He belongs to the ages;
Solemn sounds of singers
Glorify the leader's deeds,
And while voices instill them in boys,
Grandchildren give shivers of ecstacy.
As a full moon at times
Covered by night clouds,
Suddenly penetrates the dense darkness
And lights up the eyes of wanderers--
So a leader, through the darkness of ages,
Will shine forth for future tribes;
But the deed of war is gigantic
And a shame to the enemies beaten by him
In the judgement of the mind, in the judgement of ages--
It is nothing before civic valour.
Where were there not glorious leaders,
Who went against laws and freedom?
From ancient times to our days
All nations gloried in them
Under their mortal sword
Everywhere blood flowed in streams.
Alas, the Attilas, the Napoleons
each era saw them in turn:
They appeared in droves. . .
But were there many Ciceros? . .
Only Rome, ruler of the universe,
This land of freedom and laws,
Could produce one of them
And two Brutuses and two Catos.
But is it for us to be down-hearted,
When still in our native land
One of the wondrous giants
Of Catherine's glorious days'
Among throngs of elect men
In council awakens the Mordvins?
Oh, so, fellow-citizens, it is not for us
In our age to complain about providence--
Thanks be to the heavens
For their holy mercy!
By the heavens, for the good of the Russian lands,
Is given us a virtuous man,
Already half a century he
Surprises Russia with his civic courage;
In vain perfidy has been sizzling around him--
He has trampled on its neck.
In vain the wrongful voice of passions
And evil envy building up intrigues,
In their mindless daring
Blacken the deeds of a hero.
He is firm, calm, impossible to harm,
Views them with scorn,
Preserves a high spirit's freedom
In his advice and his judgements
And with his proud courage everywhere
He is the defender of the power and the nation.
Thus, in awesome beauty stands
The grey Elbrus in a hazy mist:
Around rage storms, hail, claps of thunder
And the wind blows whistling in the gorges,
Below clouds are sailing,
Streams rustling, rivers roaring;
But those daring bursts are in vain:
Elbrus, the beauty of the Caucasus mountains,
Imperturbable, under the heavens
Raises its peak, haughty.