Borodino Part 1 By Mikhail Lermontov

Guv, tell me, not without the reason our Moscow in the fired treason was burnt and left for French. Oh, there were fights I see their splendours so awesome and we have the embers, No wonder Russia still remembers Borodino’s black trench! It was the time there were the people, The modern tribe looks like some cripple, They’re Heroes they’re not you. Their fate is bad their fate is sorry: Not many had returned with glory, God will be done and our story left Moscow beauteous view. We were retreating long and silent So sad we waited fight and quiet The old men grumble so: What? Winter quarters willy-nilly? Can chiefs tear up strange tunics killing with Russian bayonets and feeling that French would have to go? And field was found: it’s large and ample There was the space to walk or trample Then we had built redoubt. We kept our head; it is warning, The cannons lightened with the morning, Crowns of blue trees were full of dawning, The French’s right here; they’re proud. I put the ball in cannon tightly, I thought I will regale “friend” lightly, Oh, little wait, monsieur. Do not be cunning, soldiers. Action! We’ll go as wall against their faction, We will stand head and shoulders. Passion! For Motherland, hell yeah! There were two days of endless shooting, I saw no point in this duty, Third day we waited for. The speeches were among blood splashing: “It’s time for case-shot for the smashing!” And night fell down on field of slashing with shadow pausing war. I lay to sleep near carriege boring, I heard that French exults for morning over the battlefield. Our bivouac was very quiet Some cleaned his shako after riot, Some sharpened bayonet untired Biting moustache and chilled. P.S. This is my translation of poem by Mikhail Lermontov.