To Pushkin
The fiery ringing of the prophet's strings,
Has reached our ears,
Our hands reach for the sword,
I only wear chains on my hands.
But singer, please rest assured,
We are proud of fate and shackles,
Behind the prison door,
We laughed at the emperor in our hearts.
Our humiliating labor will not die,
Sparks can ignite flames,
Our people accepted the Enlightenment,
Will gather under the sacred banner.
We will forge chains into swords,
Rekindle the flame of freedom,
Freedom will attack the emperor,
People will breathe happily.
answer