Well I know the times' corruption, And, surely, not gainsay it shall I: Our nobility but recent is: The more recent it, the more noble 't is. But of humbled races a chip, And, God be thanked, not alone Of ancient Lords am scion I; Citizen I am, a citizen! Not in cakes my grandsire traded, Not a prince was newly-baked he; Nor at church sang he in choir, Nor polished he the boots of Tsar; Was not escaped a soldier he From the German powdered ranks; How then aristocrat am I to be? God be thanked, I am but a citizen. My grandsire Radsha in warlike service To Alexander Nefsky was attached. The Crowned Wrathful, Fourth Ivan, His descendants in his ire had spared. About the Tsars the Pushkins moved; And more than one acquired renown, When against the Poles battling was Of Nizhny Novgorod the citizen plain. When treason conquered was and falsehood, And the rage of storm of war, When the Romanoffs upon the throne The nation called by its Chart-- We upon it laid our hands; The martyr's son then favored us; Time was, our race was prized, But I ... am but a citizen obscure. Our stubborn spirit us tricks has played; Most irrepressible of his race, With Peter my sire could not get on; And for this was hung by him. Let his example a lesson be: Not contradiction loves a ruler, Not all can be Prince Dolgorukys, Happy only is the simple citizen. My grandfather, when the rebels rose In the palace of Peterhof, Like Munich, faithful he remained To the fallen Peter Third; To honor came then the Orloffs, But my sire into fortress, prison-- Quiet now was our stern race, And I was born merely--citizen. Beneath my crested seal The roll of family charts I've kept; Not running after magnates new, My pride of blood I have subdued; I'm but an unknown singer Simply Pushkin, not Moussin, My strength is mine, not from court: I am a writer, a citizen. MY MONUMENT. IV. 23. A monument not hand-made I have for me erected; The path to it well-trodden will not overgrow; Risen higher has it with unbending head Than the monument of Alexander. No! not all of me shall die! my soul in hallowed lyre Shall my dust survive, and escape destruction-- And famous be I shall, as long as on earth sublunar One bard at least living shall remain. My name will travel over the whole of Russia great, And there pronounce my name shall every living tongue: The Slav's proud scion, and the Finn, and the savage yet Tungus, and the Calmuck, lover of the steppe. And long to the nation I shall be dear: For rousing with my lyre its noble feelings. For extolling freedom in a cruel age, For calling mercy upon the fallen.