ive my dusts corruption-
And honour shall I have, so long the glorious fire
Of poesy flames on one single sctcheon.
Rumor of me shall then my whole cast country fill,
In every tongue she owns my name shell speak.
Proud Slaves posterity, Finn, and – unlettered still-
The Tungus, and the steppe-loving Kalmyk.
And long the people yet will honour me
Because my lyre was tuned to loving- kindness
And, in a cruelAge, I sang of Liberty
And Mercy begged Of Justice in her blindness.
Indifferent alike to praise or blame
Giveheed, o Muse, but to the voice Divine
Fearing not injury, nor seeking fame,
Nor casting pearls to swine.
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