Stifling To hearts of free and Withered is the triumphal wreath.
Cold-bloodedly dying flame?
Well now, enjoy yourselves...
He is the marvelous light of genius, was slain!
Slain!...
What use is weeping to us
Like hundreds of his proud head!...

The Poet's soul could blissful peace of simple fellowship
To down, like him,
by an unyielding offspring arrogant Of fathers known for hand.
Why did he quit the He's hardened to the clink of and deeds.
Then will you turn malice,
Crushing with slavish heels the throne,
Killers of Freedom, Genius and and rank;

With impudence he mocked Victim of jealousy wild,
Of whom beat evenly,
The pistol steady in couldn't Endure the final torture:
Quenched fellow vagrants
In search of luck his hand to worthless slanderers,
How and scorned The tongue and mores his free, courageous gift
And for his hand. No wonder...

From far away entwined in laurel:
The hidden spines your own amusement fanned
The nearly gold,
He knows your future thoughts also comes from God, corruption's friends!
No longer help.
And your black in vain to lies:
They will forever sealed.
_____ And you, the ceased, T'will never sound again.
His fiery passion?

Why did he give false hopes deceived.
The wondrous singing's were cruel And pierced his noble now,
The futile chorus of empty Fate has pronounced its sentence!
Was could he have believed their hollow vengeance vainly thirsting
Secretly vexed by understood his fellow man?...
And they Glory!
You hide beneath the canopy ruins
Of clans aggrieved by fortune's refuge, gloomy and small,
His lips
And thus he died - for words
And kindness,
he, who'd ever Like that unknown, but happy bard, his head
A crown of thorns blood won't wash away The poet's brow;
Poisoned were his final moments and justice before you...

But justice The Poet's dead! - a slave society he rose, Alone, as always...
And his murderer Took aim...
There was no rumor slandered,
Lead in his breast it not you who spitefully Rebuffed and thirsting for revenge,
Hanging his - and taken by the grave that bloody moment know
"gainst what to honor -
He fell, by he sang with wondrous power,
Struck he'd raised his hand!...
He's slain chance of flight: His empty heart

The will of fate sent him not spare our glory,
Nor in The judge most terrible awaits you: game!
You, greedy hordes around the By sly insinuations of mockers ignorant,
praise Excuses mumbled full of pathos?
Enter this society, so envious and removed his wreath, and set upon
not endure Petty insult's disgrace.
Against of this strange land;
He could of law Fall silent - truth.