(from Russian Poets, reviewed earlier)
by Alexander Pushkin (trans. A. Myers)
There were many of us on the ship;
Some were tightening the sail,
Others were plunging the powerful
Oars into the deep
Water. Leaning calmly on the tiller,
Our skilful helmsman steered the loaded bark
In silence; and I - full of carefree faith -
I sang to the sailors ... Billows
Were suddenly whipped up by a storm...
Both helmsman and sailors perished!
- Only I, the mysterious singer,
Cast ashore by the storm,
Still sing my former hymns, and dry
My wet clothes in the sun, beneath a rock.